


Elven Hero

by aya_shoru



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 56,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aya_shoru/pseuds/aya_shoru
Summary: Trav'lar was just trying to hunt, when the sky came crashing down. Escaping the chaos of Helgen, the bosmer finds himself tasked to warn others. The story of Skyrim with a bosmer dragonborn.





	1. Helgen

Trav’lar cursed as another arrow went wide of the wolf running away from him. The creature had an arrow lodged in its hindquarters, making it limp as it ran, but still the bosmer had missed it twice. Drawing back another arrow, he slowly breathed out, willing the shaking to leave his arms, and released. The wolf crashed to the ground, kicking out its last moments.

Trav’lar lowered his bow, rubbing his tired eyes and slowly walked to his kill. This would be the fourth wolf he’d brought down in two weeks, a very low number for him, usually being able to bag twice that many. But the mer’s sleep had been disturbed as of late, strange dreams of roars in the darkness, making him wake with his heart pounding, and unable to sleep the rest of the night. This will be the last pelt he collects, before heading back to a town to sell them. Helgen was close, then he could stop in Riverwood to visit his cousin and take some time to rest. A few hours later Trav’lar was strapping the damp pelt to his pack, cleaning up his small camp, and heading North West towards Helgen, just as the sun started towards noon.

 

Trav’lar was relieved to see the gates of the village, barely noticing the extra guards roaming the walkway above. When he drew closer, he realized they were not Guardsmen, but Imperial soldiers. Stepping through the gates he spotted the distinctive elven armor and robes of Thalmor agents, and kept his head down, no reason to draw their attention. Trav’lar climbed the steps of the inn, deciding to grab a meal here, then move on to Riverwood to sell the pelts. All the towns people were huddling in groups and whispering, no one going about their daily chores, and no one selling anything at the stalls.

“Oh, hello traveler, what brings you to Helgen?” The innkeeper stared at Trav’lar in surprise and worry, and the mer looked around at the empty inn.

“I was hoping to get a meal here, before continuing on to Riverwood, have some pelts to sell.” When the innkeeper spotted the furs on his pack, the man seemed to relax a bit.

“Yes of course. I’ll get you something, some goat perhaps? It is almost done.” Trav’lar nodded and dropped his pack by the table. “If you want, there is a washstand back in the corner to clean up.”

Soon Trav’lar slouched at the table, staring blearily at the mead he’d been given, and slowly ran a hand through his short brown hair. Again, he heard the roar from his dreams and rubbed his eyes, so exhausted now, his dreams were bothering him while he was awake. The innkeeper placed a plate of roasted goat in front of him, which he eagerly tore into. The roar came once more, louder, and Trav’lar rubbed around his ears, feeling the ache of exhaustion start. Then the screaming started, and the air shook with a deafening sound.

Trav’lar staggered up from the table, turning towards the door just as the innkeeper opened it. Passed the man Trav’lar could see soldiers in blue and red running as flaming stone fell from the sky. Reaching the door, Trav’lar froze in shock at the giant creature perched on top of a tower. Black in color, with two great wings stretching to either side, and red eyes that seemed to light up as it breathed fire onto those below him. The innkeeper crashed into Trav’lar, trying to get back inside and they both tumbled to the ground.

“Dragon!” Trav’lar and the man scrambled to their feet, just as a flaming stone crashed through the roof, burying them in debris. The mer struggled against the wooden beams pinning him down, and could hear the innkeeper yelling for his family, perhaps still downstairs, until the dragon let out another roar. The Inn shook from another hit, then everything went black.

 

The warm tingle of a healing spell drew him from unconsciousness, and he opened his eyes, looking around in shock. He had been laid down among others that were injured, most of them soldiers, in what used to be Helgen’s market square, the town which was now a smoldering ruin of tumbled stone and burning thatch. A few people were going amongst the injured, healing what they could, and covering those they couldn’t.

Carefully, Trav’lar pushed himself up until he was sitting, still sore. The boy from the Inn was sitting against a collapsed stone wall, crying into his knees, a covered body next to him. From the sun’s position low in the sky, he’d been out for several hours, buried under the rubble of the Inn, and he still felt it.

“How are you feeling?” Trav’lar turned to the girl that had been healing him. A Nord, and citizen of Helgen by her clothing, a bandage was wrapped around her arm. Trav’lar carefully stretched and nodded to her.

“Still a bit sore but thank you.” He looked around at the destruction. “Was that really a dragon?”

The girl shuddered and nodded. “A big black monster. It flew off towards Bleak Falls Barrow after destroying…everything.”

“Were the soldiers after it? Was that why there were so many here?” The girl shook her head, looking around at the bodies.

“No, they were here to execute Ulfric Stormcloak. I think he and a few of his men escaped during the dragon attack though.” The girl moved on to the next injured person, an Imperial soldier, so Trav’lar stood, moving carefully toward the rubble that used to be the Inn.

He reached the remains of the building just as an Imperial soldier climbed out, a sack and Trav’lar’s pack in his hands. “Oh, I didn’t expect it to survive the collapse, thank you.” Trav’lar held out his hand for the pack. The soldier startled, eyes wide at being caught, and his hand twitched next to his sword. “It wouldn’t be worth it friend, just some wolf pelts and herbs I found while hunting.”

The soldier glared and tossed the pack at Trav’lar’s feet before moving on, shoulder checking him as he passed. A dragon attacks and the soldiers still had time to loot through the village. Taking that as a sign to leave, Trav’lar headed towards the nearest gate, which just happened to be in the direction he needed to go. He walked carefully, still feeling the healing done to him, deep where bones had been broken, and organs bruised, and trying not to draw unwanted attention from the soldiers, who had been so close to ending this war. Once through the gate, he breathed a bit easier, thankful that Riverwood was all downhill, making it easier on his still healing body. The woods were unnaturally quiet, only a few brave birds letting out tentative cries. No squirrels or rabbits ran through the brush, all still terrified from the dragon.

Soon Bleak Falls came into view, reminding Trav’lar of the village girl’s words that the dragon had flown in this direction. Hopefully it decided to stay in the mountains and not attack Riverwood as it had Helgen. He became more cautious, sticking to the trees lining the road, and keeping his ears open for that haunting roar, or the flap of giant wings. Perhaps he had been hearing the dragon in his sleep, and it had merged with his dreams, making him lucky it hadn’t found him alone out in the woods and made a meal of him. Perhaps all the activity of the soldiers in the village drew it from the mountains.

The crash of logs falling pulled him from his musings and had him ducking against a tree, until the sound of a saw made him realize he was just hearing the mill in Riverwood, still out of sight around the hill. The first person he saw when he came into view of the village, was his cousin Faendal, carrying firewood passed the smithy. “Faendal!”

The other bosmer almost dropped his load in surprise as he turned toward the familiar voice. “Trav’lar! I wasn’t expecting you.” As Trav’lar drew closer, Faendal did drop his arm load and rushed to his cousin. “By the Eight, what happened to you?”

Trav’lar knew he looked a mess, clothing ragged, covered in soot and blood. He hadn’t wanted to stop at the river and wash up, feeling that would leave him too exposed with the dragon about. “A dragon attacked Helgen and I barely survived. Some saw it fly towards the Barrow when it left, have you seen anything?”

“A dragon?” Faendal looked toward the old woman sitting in front of the house nearby, and back to his cousin, before lowering his voice. “Attacked Helgen, are you sure?”

Trav’lar nodded. “I was there, the Inn collapsed on me and killed many, there were soldiers there too.” Faendal leaned closer.

“Which soldiers? Stormcloaks, or Imperial?”

“Both, the Imperials were executing some Stormcloaks they’d captured, including Ulfric himself.” Faendal’s eyes widened and he roughly grabbed Trav’lar’s arm, easing up a little as his cousin hissed in pain, and leaned in to whisper to him.

“Come inside, we can take care of your injuries, and it looks like you could use a meal.” Trav’lar looked around but couldn’t see the reason for his cousin’s sudden caution, those that were nearby were going about their business.

Once inside Faendal’s home his cousin relaxed and gestured to a table, there sat some bottles of mead and some jerked meat with cheese, as he dug around in a cupboard.

“What’s going on? You seem nervous.” Faendal sighed and set some bandages down, along with some potion bottles.

“Things have changed since you were last here. Two of the local boys joined the war, one on each side, so the village is split down the middle.” Trav’lar shook his head in disgust, why the Nords felt the need to fight amongst themselves, he couldn’t understand. Personally, he didn’t think much of Nords, or humans in general, he’d lost count of all the times he’d been accused of being a Thalmor supporter. Obviously Nords were too stupid to tell the difference between mer.

“So, any word of Helgen would start a fight, at the very least.” Faendal didn’t say anything but Trav’lar knew he agreed. “Still, people need to be warned of the dragon.”

Faendal sat down, running his hands through his hair in agitation and messing up his ponytail, before reluctantly turning to his cousin. “You should warn the Jarl in Whiterun, say Riverwood asks for aid or protection against the dragon.” Faendal smiled a little. “You will be going that way, right? To sell those pelts of yours?”

Trav’lar sighed, his cousin was right, he needed to sell those pelts before they started going bad, but he was very reluctant to travel with a dragon flying around. “You’re right, and since I was in Helgen, he might actually listen to me.”

“You don’t give him enough credit.” Faendal was frowning at his cousin. “He cares about his people. If they are human, or mer, it doesn’t matter. You know his housecarl is a dunmer, she’s been with him for years, protecting him.”

Trav’lar scowled and dug into the meat he wasn’t really interested in. Faendal leaned back in his seat, looking at the fire, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “A dragon.”

~ ~ ~

That night was the same as all the previous nights, leaving Trav’lar tossing and turning in his bedroll, as dragon roars filled his mind. Again, he jolted awake, ears straining into the night, but hearing nothing. He covered his eyes with his arm, shirt damp from sweat, and let out a shaky sigh. He’d been having these dreams for over a month. Distant roars, large wings flapping above him, and now hot breath that smelled of fire and death.

Trav’lar pulled himself out of the bedroll and plopped down on a bench, reaching for an unopened bottle of wine. The fire was burning low, when he felt he could attempt sleep again, some early hour of the morning. The lack of sleep had greatly affected his hunting, so he was heading to Whiterun with a light load.

 

Water splashing in a bucket woke him, and he squinted against the sunlight streaming into his cousin’s home. Faendal stood at a table, washing his face from a bucket, dressed and ready for work at the mill.

“Good to see you awake.” Faendal paused and frowned a little. “Though you look like you could use a lot more rest, you aren’t getting sick, are you?”

“I don’t think so, how long have you been up?” Trav’lar started to pack up the bedroll, eyes still blurry from waking up.

“Not long, Gerdur likes us to start working not long after dawn.” Faendal stepped away from the bucket and moved to the fire where something was cooking, probably a gruel or mash for breakfast. “Are you planning on leaving today to go to Whiterun?”

“The sooner the better, who knows when the dragon will attack again.” Faendal grabbed his cousin’s arm, stopping him from grabbing his pack.

“What is going on Trav’lar? You are exhausted, and you usually have twice as many pelts to sell. Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick Faendal, I just haven’t been sleeping well lately, bad dreams.” Faendal still wouldn’t release him.

“Bad dreams? For how long? Because you look like you haven’t slept well in weeks.” Trav’lar pulled away and picked up his pack.

“What do you want me to do Faendal? Stay here and rest while a dragon flies around destroying villages?”

“At least visit the healers at the temple of Kynareth after you see the Jarl.” Again, Faendal grabbed Trav’lar’s arm, but more gently this time. “You are welcome to come back here and rest, for as long as you need to.”

Trav’lar clasped his cousin’s arm in farewell and headed out, breathing in the crisp morning air. Faendal followed him out and they went their separate ways at the main road, Faendal waving farewell, watching his cousin disappear down the road to Whiterun.

 

It was going to take Trav’lar most of the day to reach Whiterun and he was not looking forward to crossing the open valley that surrounded the city with the dragon about. Since he was so familiar with the Hold from the years of hunting, he knew a few shortcuts though the woods that would get him closer to the city while being under cover longer. So far, the few travelers that he met didn’t seem panicked or even know about the dragon.

He was almost to the city, sun shining brightly at just past noon as he came out of the woods at the back of a farm, when the ground shook. Instantly Trav’lar looked around, starting to draw his bow, looking for a grounded dragon, when an arrow shot passed his head. He ducked instinctively, turning in the direction the arrow had come from, leaping onto the small wall that separated the fields.

There was a small group of warriors fighting a giant, in a field of now crushed potatoes. As he watched, the giant brought down his club onto one of the warriors, who rolled out of the way, very fast for his size and armor, and spun to his feet, swinging a huge sword into the giant’s legs. The creature cried out then turned, revealing a back full of arrows, and tried to stomp of the shield wielding warrior, who also scrambled out of the way.

The large warrior with the greatsword gave a war cry and slammed his weapon into the giant’s side, pulling back as it collapsed to the ground dead. Trav’lar slung his bow back over his shoulder and continued toward the city, making sure to give the warriors a wide berth. He’d recognized the armor they wore, marking them as members of the Companions, that lived in Whiterun. Trav’lar had met the redheaded Companion, Aela, several times while hunting, each encounter sending a shiver down his spine.

Now he jogged past them, eager to get within the walls of Whiterun and away from the scent of blood and what might be attracted to it.

“Halt, the city is closed with the dragon about.” Trav’lar stared at the guard in shock. Close the city? What good would that do against a creature that could fly?

“I’ve come from Riverwood, they ask for the Jarl’s protection after the dragon destroyed Helgen.” The guards exchanged glances, then one opened the gate enough for him to slip through.

“Helgen has been destroyed? You’d better tell the Jarl. Has Riverwood been attacked?” The guard sounded worried, perhaps he had family in Riverwood.

“Not yet.” The guard shuddered and Trav’lar was inside.

 

He first sold off the pelts, Trav’lar didn’t want to show up in the Jarl’s home with smelly skins still with him, then he made his way up to Dragonsreach. The new coin was a reassuring weight inside his vest, his supplies had been dwindling and coin was getting tight, he might still have to pick up a bounty or two before he left. As Trav’lar approached Dragonsreach, he couldn’t help but be impressed at the height they’d managed to get, and of course build it at the very top of the hill, a downside being all the stairs he now had to climb.

The inside was more impressive, instead of having several floors, the main part was one open space, with graceful arches keeping everything together. “Halt!”

Trav’lar stumbled to a stop, he’d been so busy looking around, following one wall to the next, he hadn’t noticed how close to the Jarl he’d gotten, but the Housecarl sure had, and she stood between them, sword out and ready. “State your business.”

“I’ve come from Riverwood, they are worried about the dragon and ask the Jarl for aid.” The dunmer narrowed her red eyes and her blade didn’t move.

“Irileth. Who is that?”

“A traveler from Riverwood milord.” The Jarl straightened in his chair.

“Riverwood. Does he have news of the dragon.” Before Irileth could say more, the man to the Jarl’s right stepped forward.

“How do we even know there is a dragon, what if it is just tales told by Ulfric to get you scared and sending soldiers away to weaken the city.” The Jarl didn’t look happy but a scoff from Trav’lar drew their attention.

“Yes, tales and fear tactics. Tell that to the people of Helgen, I was there when it destroyed the village. Killing villagers and soldiers alike.” The man glared down his nose at the mer.

“I suppose you were at the right place to avoid being killed in the attack, possibly camped outside the walls?” Trav’lar growled, but the drawn sword kept him from moving forward.

“I was in the Inn when it collapsed on top of me, you fool. The Innkeeper is dead, maybe his wife as well, but all I saw was his son grieving over his crushed and burned corpse.” The man flinched back at Trav’lar’s anger and the Jarl stood.

“Enough! Proventus, perhaps you should retire to the deck, take a chance to calm yourself.” Proventus breathed heavily several times before bowing to the Jarl.

“Of course, milord, if you would excuse me.” Once the other man was out of sight upstairs, the Jarl sat back down and turned to Trav’lar, a frown on his face.

“If you are done antagonizing my people…” Trav’lar let out a breath and stepped back from the Housecarl, though she didn’t relax her stance. “Irileth, let him approach.”

“Are you sure milord.” The Jarl nodded and the dunmer reluctantly sheathed her sword. “I’ll have my eye on you.”

“Is it true? Helgen has been destroyed by a dragon?” Trav’lar nodded and the Jarl leaned back in his throne. “What happened in Helgen? How did you end up in Riverwood?”

“There were many soldiers in the village, maybe that drew the dragon out of the mountains, but it breathed fire, and boulders fell from the sky. I woke up after most everything was over, those that were dead were getting gathered up, and I was with the injured. I left as soon as I could, my cousin lives in Riverwood and I wanted to warn him of the dragon.” The Jarl nodded along with the tale and turned to his Housecarl.

“Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once, if they leave now, they can be set up before nightfall.” The Housecarl bowed.

“Yes, my Jarl.” The Jarl turned to Trav’lar. “You, what is your name?”

“Trav’lar milord.” He could see the Jarl’s face twitch, and the Housecarl snorted a laugh before trying to hide it as a cough.

“You risked much coming here with the dragon about, to warn us. Follow Hrongar, he will take you to my personal armory, where you can choose something for your reward.” The Jarl gestured to the armored man on his left, though Trav’lar could just stare at the Jarl in shock. Pick something, from his personal armory? Was the man mad? The armored man motioned Trav’lar to follow him, as he started up the stairs to the next floor. Trav’lar knocked himself out of his shock enough to bow, then follow the man. Some turns and doors later, they stood in a room that had many sets of armor on stands and weapons in racks, and not a few just piled on the floor.

“Pick quickly, I don’t want to be caught inside if the dragon attacks.” Trav’lar nodded and moved passed the heavier and fancier armors without even looking at them, skipped the weapons, and started looking through the piles on the floor. Anything gilded was skipped, game would see the light reflected, and old cracked armor made his lip curl in disgust. There was a set of leather armor, leather laces in place of buckles to adjust it to fit, which was smaller than the rest. It needed a bit of oiling but Trav’lar picked it up, it was exactly what he was looking for, if he wanted to do any bounty hunting, he needed something tougher than the hunting skins he was wearing now. He passed the man, who didn’t argue his choice.

“You saw the dragon?” A man in robes ambushed him as he left the room, and it was only because Trav’lar’s arms were full that the man didn’t get punched in the face. “How big was it? Did it breathe fire or ice? What did it look like?”

The armored man reached over and separated them. “Farengar, leave the elf alone.”

“But Hrongar, he saw the dragon and lived! No one else has shown up that can claim the same, he is my only lead on the dragon!” Hrongar kept one hand locked on Farengar’s robes as the man struggled to reach Trav’lar.

“You are from Riverwood, right? Best head out soon, you’ll not want to get caught out there in the dark.” Trav’lar nodded and started to leave, but Farengar started violently thrashing around.

“Wait! Please I have a favor I must ask of you!” Trav’lar stopped and Hrongar reluctantly let the wizard go.

“You know of Bleak Falls Barrow do you not?” Trav’lar inwardly grimaced but nodded. “Inside is a tablet I believe tells of the locations of various dragon burial sites.” Farengar pulled a scroll out from his robes and unrolled it, it depicted an angular stone with strange writing on it.

“How far in the Barrow is it?” Farengar slowly rolled up the scroll.

“I believe it is interred in the main chamber, I feel the task is best suited for a traveler like you.” When Trav’lar frowned, Farengar hastily added. “I will reward you of course.”

“How soon do you want the tablet?” Farengar hummed in thought and counted silently to himself.

“With the dragon sighting, I will be busy, so if you could get it to me, a week at the latest…” Trav’lar nodded and left the area before the man could change his mind and grab at him again. He needed to replenish his supply of arrows and make it back to Riverwood before dark, no way was he carrying a torch around in the dark with a dragon flying around. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too far behind the detachment the Jarl sent out.

Trav’lar pushed open the door to the Drunken Huntsman and sighed in relief as the quiet and warmth washed over him. Elrindir looked up from the book he was reading and waved to him.

“Trav’lar, good to see you again, though you have looked better. Didn’t catch Rockjoint again did you? How was the hunting?” Trav’lar pulled his mostly empty quiver around to show the other mer. “So, either you did well, or you missed a lot.”

“Missed a lot this time, Elrindir, but no I’m not sick. I haven’t been sleeping well and it has affected my aim. I only got 6 wolf pelts and almost used all 20 of my arrows, then the dragon showed up.” Elrindir’s eyes almost popped out and Trav’lar found himself retelling the story of Helgen over a cup of warmed cider.

“You aren’t heading back to Riverwood tonight, are you? You won’t make it back before dark. Stay here at least, my brother will want to hear of your adventure as well.” Trav’lar smiled in gratitude. The brothers were good friends, sometimes he helped Anoriath hunt for his stall, in exchange for the pelts.

“Alright, but I promised my cousin I would visit him before my next hunt so no getting me drunk for a week.” Elrindir grimaced then rolled his eyes.

“Just wait Trav’lar, one day you will do something embarrassing, then I will never let you forget it either.” Trav’lar saluted Elrindir with his cup and felt himself relaxing. Warm cider, good friends, and surrounded by the walls of the city, this had turned out to be the best day Trav’lar had had in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry 1am will neaten up later.

_A dark cave, the shuffling of unsteady feet. Bats screeching as they fled. A growling roar and the beat of huge wings. The smell of burning flesh and wood, a great eye staring at him from a black scaly face._

Trav’lar jolted awake, scrambling to get away from the beast in his dream, and promptly slammed his back and head into the wall. As he blinked stars from his vision, Trav’lar could make out the familiar walls of the Drunken Huntsman. Anoriath stood with his back to him, roasting something over the firepit in the center of the room, but Elrindir was facing Trav’lar, and saw his flailing in the bedroll. The other mer looked away with a frown, not liking to see the younger mer’s sleep disturbed. He spared Trav’lar the indignity of having another watch him as he untangled himself from his blankets, threw on a shirt, and joined them at the fire.

Anoriath turned to hand Trav’lar a plate with his breakfast on it, and promptly broke into a fit of laughter when he saw the state of the other hunter’s hair, mussed from a night of tossing and turning.

“Goodness Trav’lar, now I see why you keep your hair so short.” Elrindir smirked as he sat down to eat what Trav’lar now recognized to be roasted goat. The brothers were strict followers of the Green Way, while Faendal was not. They never forced Trav’lar to follow like they do, but when he was at the brothers’ home, he ate what they ate, and they provided him with cider, a weakness for it he developed when he was in Riften. Trav’lar accepted his plate and took a healthy bite out of the perfectly cooked meat. If Anoriath ever needed a new job, he could easily find one as a cook.

“Well, not all of us Bosmer can live a lazy life inside a city and grow our hair out.” Anoriath’s and Elrindir’s eyes narrowed as they mock glared at the younger mer, and Elrindir pointed a finger at Trav’lar.

“Lazy? Who are you calling lazy, you filthy root sucker.” Trav’lar drew back as if offended, but the smile gave him away.

“Filthy? I’ll have you know I bathed two days ago.”

“In what, mammoth dung?” Anoriath laughed over Trav’lar’s shocked face, and soon all three mer were laughing over their breakfast. As Trav’lar finished off the last of the juices on his plate, Elrindir placed a new bundle of arrows next to his pack.

“Here you go my friend, 30 steel arrows. Perhaps with these you will miss less.” Elrindir turned to him, all humor gone. “And stay safe out there, from the dragon.”

Things packed and farewells made, Trav’lar quickly found himself on the way back to Riverwood, taking the shortcut through a farm to get under the trees as quickly as possible. As the sun reached its highest, Trav’lar was crossing the bridge into Riverwood, spotting guards from Whiterun now patrolling the small village, but all turned to look at something down the main street. He decided not to bother his cousin while he was working and head straight for his house instead, planning on cleaning himself up a bit more inside.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get that far. Between the smithy and the store, a crowd was gathered, yelling and shoving at each other, a few guards were in the mix, trying to restore order. From what Trav’lar could see, two human men were the main instigators of the fight, both yelling at each other with weapons drawn, the reason for their anger as clear as the uniforms they were wearing. Trav’lar desperately looked for his cousin and spotted him standing back from the crowd on the other side, watching with an armload of wood.

“How can you be a traitor to your own people, pandering to those elven dogs.” The man wearing the Stormcloak armor spat at the other man wearing Imperial armor, who glared back at him, sword in hand.

“We have a peace treaty with them, we have to honor it.” The Stormcloak sneered.

“Ulfric will never give in to the elves!”

“Ulfric murdered the high king!” Guards ran passed Trav’lar to join in the fray, pulling people away and knocking the more combative away with their shields. The two soldiers had their weapons taken from them as they were separated. Trav’lar headed behind the store, going behind the homes to get to his cousin now that it looked like the guards had it under control.

“Faendal, when did this start?” Faendal looked relieved to see him.

“Not long ago, the Stormcloak arrived sometime last night, then the Imperial this morning. They had been able to avoid knowing about each other until now.” The guards were now pulling the two men to either side of the main road and one poked the Stormcloak in the chest with a gloved finger.

“Now I don’t care who is fighting who, or who is right in this war. All I care about is protecting Riverwood from a possible dragon attack, so if you two can’t respect the peace, then you’d best be moving on.” Both men calmed and looked grim when the dragon was brought up, and the Imperial nodded to the guard.

“I need to warn the others about the dragon, I will leave in the morning and won’t start any trouble.” He stared at the Stormcloak then turned and went inside the blacksmith’s home. The Stormcloak turned away and went between the store and tavern, followed by Hod and Gerder. Faendal turned to Trav’lar, a worried frown furrowing the spot between his brows.

“I’d been hoping you’d be able to get some rest here, but with those two.” Faendal sighed and dumped his load of wood next to the smith’s smelter. “Well, at least one of them will be leaving in the morning, that’s half the problem gone. They made their way back to Faendal’s house, and Trav’lar spotted the Stormcloak speaking with Gerder, and everything clicked.

“The Stormcloak is your boss’s brother, isn’t he?” Faendal sighed as he opened the door.

“Yes, he is, and he’s already started glaring and sneering at me, muttering “damn elves” to himself. I don’t know of he knows I can hear him.” Trav’lar sighed as well, it was ridiculous how these Nords lumped all the mer together and blamed them as one. “I am glad you got the Jarl to send some guardsmen, cousin. I think some bandits have taken shelter in the area, and we haven’t heard from Rolf in a while, he’s the one in charge of the mine.”

Trav’lar remembered the mine with a grimace, there was a door at one entrance, but not the other, and wolves often crept inside to try and use it as a den. Killing wolves in a cave was the hardest, with little room to move and sounds bouncing off the walls.

“Wait, wasn’t Gerder’s brother and the other good friends when they were younger? We used to help them explore the cave before they started mining.” Faendal nodded.

“And now they want to kill each other, just because the other is wearing a different uniform. Like all those years growing up didn’t matter.” Faendal gave the stew pot a few stirs and pointed at two bottles he had on the table, inviting him to have one.

“Camilla brought up the bandits actually, seems like they broke into her brother’s store and stole something valuable, he was looking for someone to retrieve it for him, Camilla asked me if anyone was interested.” Trav’lar set down the mead before he could take a drink, frowning at his cousin’s back. He wasn’t happy with the other mer’s relationship with the woman, not only was she an Imperial, and human, but she was also leading his cousin on, and making eyes at the bard in town. He’d heard the rumors before he’d left and didn’t believe Camilla was good enough for his older cousin.

Faendal turned around, hands full with bowls of stew, and caught Trav’lar’s expression. “What? Is the mead bad?”

“That woman is no good.” Faendal scowled and placed a bowl of stew down in front of his cousin.

“Eat that and get some rest, I’m going back to work.” His cousin dumped the other bowl back into the stew pot and walked out the door. Trav’lar sighed, so much for relaxing.

 

_The ground shook as the beast landed, looking around and through the trees for its prey, hot breath creating a cloud in the frigid air. The dragon growled something then turned suddenly. A bright red eye in a black head._

 

Trav’lar jolted out of his bedroll, choking on air and coughing violently, whole body shaking. For a moment he thought he was breathing in hot air that tasted of burned stone, but the sensation faded as he caught his breath, as did the strange humming in his bones that he hadn’t noticed until it was gone.

After his cousin had returned from the mill, they had spent the rest of the evening mostly in silence. Now it was almost dawn and Faendal was staring sleepily at him from his bed. Trav’lar heard a soft roar and shuddered, remembering his dream, and was surprised when Faendal jolted up in bed, ears trembling slightly.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“The roar.” Trav’lar froze, realizing what he had brushed off as remnants of his dream was actually-

“There, again.” Faendal was whispering, and now hunched down in his bed, but Trav’lar caught the familiar echoing cry. He jumped out of bed and started dressing.

“We have to warn the guards. If we must, we’ll need to hide everyone in the mine.”

“But the mine—" Trav’lar tossed his cousin’s unstrung bow at the bed.

“If the dragon attacks, the only safe place is the mine, wolves, bandits, or not.” Then Trav’lar was out the door, bow in hand and tugging his newly filled quiver over his shoulder. He spotted a guard standing on the walkway over the road and ran to him, listening hard for another cry.

“What is going on?” The guard was watching him carefully, hand resting in his mace handle.

“Did you hear it? The dragon?” The guard stuttered in surprise for a moment.

“What? I- no, I didn’t.” Sudden movement in the pre-dawn light near Bleak Falls Barrow, drew Trav’lar’s attention from the guard, and he watched in horror as the black beast flew over the mountain.

“Kynereth save us.” The guard turned and froze in shock as the dragon circled the mountains. He raised his shield and drew his weapon, but Trav’lar grabbed his arm.

“No! We must move quietly to the mine, evacuate everyone before the dragon notices us.” The guard was breathing heavily from fear but nodded.

“I will warn the other guards and this side of town, you take the side by the Inn, where is the entrance to the mine?”

“It’s not too far from here.” Faendal climbed the steps to join them. “Most of the way is covered by trees, I can lead you there, all the villagers know where it is.” The guard nodded, and they split up, Trav’lar running though the still sleeping village hoping this would not become another Helgen. He ran into the Inn, startling the Inn keeper from where she knelt by the firepit. “What are—"

“No time, we need to evacuate everyone quietly to the mine, there is a dragon.” The woman stood, hands opening and closing before turning to the man behind the bar.

“Get some food packed, I’ll wake everyone.”

“Please, be quick.” Trav’lar was already retreating out the door, the blacksmith was his next stop. Thankfully the man was awake, and there were four of them ready to get out, the Imperial having not left yet. The store keeper was harder to move, the man wanted to pack some of his merchandise to bring. A louder roar made them all freeze for a moment, then they were out, heading towards the mine. Doors were left open, indicating the inhabitants had already fled, and Trav’lar joined up with the guardsmen as they retreated into the woods, eyes on the creature that was blasting something, or someone, with fire.

“That’s that old watchtower, heard bandits were using it, good riddance.” When they reached the entrance to the mine, they stopped n surprise. Everyone was gathered outside while the two guardsmen and Faendal were crouched at the opening, weapons drawn. Carefully Trav’lar crept up to his cousin, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I spotted a few traps and bone chimes; the miners would not have set those up.”

“Bandits?” A guardsman nodded and whispered back.

“Most likely. We are in a bad position here, going in will make too much noise, and then we will be stuck between a dragon and who knows how many bandits. But the longer we stay out here, the more likely the dragon will find us.” Trav’lar peered inside the cave mouth.

“Faendal and I will disable the traps and check for any bandits. Move everyone inside slowly, if we are lucky we can wait it out in the tunnel.” Faendal and the guard nodded and Trav’lar shouldered his bow, creeping inside slowly and letting his eyes adjust to the low light. Carefully, the two mer cut and gently laid down the chimes, then moved to the two leg traps. After the first one closed, they listened carefully for anything then moved to the next. Behind them, the guards were slowly letting the villagers inside, everyone walking carefully in the darkness.

The last trap sprung and again they listened. They could hear the waterfall, which most likely would drown out any noise their group would make. The Captain of the guards crept forward to join them, and together they moved on.

“Waterfall.” Faendal whispered to the Captain. The falls would cover their approach, but would also mask any noise a patrolling bandit would make. Almost as one Trav’lar and Faendal readied their bows, arrow nocked. Funny enough, they smelled the bandit sentry before they saw him, a mix of unwashed body, blood, and sweet smoke.

When he came into view, his back was to them. The Captain crept forward, then suddenly grabbed the bandit, one hand covering his mouth while the other buried a sword in his back. The bandit tried to arch away, a cry muffled into the Captain’s gloved hand, before slumping in place. Quickly the Captain dragged the body back and Trav’lar tensed, but no one seemed to notice the sentry’s death.

Another guard crept up to them. “Everyone is safely inside.” He looked down into the main chamber below. “What should we do?”

Suddenly there was a snap and a cry of pain from inside the mine, and a gasp from a villager behind them. Trav’lar crept toward the waterfall, peering through the falling water. Another whip cracked, and he saw a man fall to his knees in pain, his pick lying beside him. Trav’lar gestured to the others to come forward, grimacing as the whipping continued.

“That’s Rolf, the owner of the mine.” Faendal flinched as Rolf let out a choked cry. “He had six men with him, but I only see three.” The Captain studied the room, then turned to them.

“How good are you with those bows?”

“I’ve done my fair share of hunting, both animal and bandit.” Trav’lar had a hard gleam in his eyes, one that grew as the whipping continued. He turned to his cousin who shrugged.

“I’m mostly a mill worker now, I’m a bit out of practice.”

“Alright.” The Captain pointed to two bandits, one with the whip, and another sitting at a table. “We take out those two first, we can’t count on the miners helping us, so that leaves the one down by the forge, which gives you time to take another shot at him. We will take over if reinforcements come or they reach us.” Trav’lar nodded and turned to Faendal.

“I’ll take the one with the whip, you get the other.” Trav’lar stiffened and both cousins looked behind them, back down the tunnel. They’d barely caught the sound of the dragon roaring again, but it just proved they were running out of time. “Ready?”

Two arrows hissed through the air, both finding their marks. One bandit dropped dead while the other cried out, toppling over and writhing on the ground, trying to reach the arrow in their back. Another figure came into view, a female miner. She raised her pick and brought it down on the writhing bandit until he was no longer moving.

The cousins released two more arrows at the last bandit as he ran up from the forge, but only injured him before he darted behind a pillar. Rolf and the other miners were scrambling away, and then there was a banging echoing through the mine, the bandit had called for help.

“Damn him.” The Captain stood and stepped around the waterfall into view. “Hurry, this way! I’m with the Whiterun guard!” The miners cheered then hurried toward them, Rolf shouting to them as they neared, getting help to walk from another miner.

“There are still four of them!” Trav’lar stepped forward and watched the tunnel the injured bandit had hidden by.

“Do they have bows? Magic? Anything long range?”

“One of them did.” The female miner ran up to them, eyes burning. “The leader also has an enchanted hammer.” Soft cries from behind them alerted them to the villagers catching sight of the miners, and the Captain took control again.

“We still have a dragon outside, so quiet down. We will finish off the bandits and stay here until the dragon—” Trav’lar barreled into the Captain, knocking them both down and an arrow ricocheted off the stone wall. Faendal shot back in retaliation, keeping the bandit pinned behind the pillar, just as three more bandits came running out of the tunnel.

“We have company!” Two guards rushed forward to meet the bandits, while Trav’lar and the Captain regained their footing. The cousins gave the guards cover fire as they fought, keeping the archer from getting more shots off. Two bandits were down when the archer suddenly stepped from cover, turning to shoot at the guards, hitting one before two arrows to the chest brought him down. With a final shout, the Captain took off the last bandit’s head. Silence fell before he sent one guardsman to make sure the bandits were dead, and the other to the cousins.

“We will bring everyone in now, we should also move the bodies.” Rolf pointed off to one side of the chamber.

“There is a side tunnel that isn’t being used, we could place them all there, it is out of the way.” The woman miner had pushed passed them, going over the bandit bodies, looking through their pockets.

“How badly hurt is your companion?” Faendal gestured to the fallen guard. “Some of the villagers know a little healing.”

“Just an arrow in the leg, didn’t really go too far through his armor.” Trav’lar’s ears twitched and he looked back at the tunnel by the waterfall as the last of the villagers filed passed, a guard backing towards them.

“Is it still out there?” The guard nodded and joined them.

“Bastard is attacking something else now, further up river. I hope that old woman got to safety.” Faendal shuddered and walked away, muttering about a creepy witch lady.

“Wait, a bandit is missing!” The woman had come to the last body.

“They must have someone to watch the entrance.” Trav’lar frowned and started down the slope.

“With the dragon so close, he may have come inside to hide from it, and he could hurt someone.” The Captain nodded and gestured to the guard from the bridge, pulling him from his injured partner.

“Take Marc with you, we’ll get everyone settled in here, once all the bodies are moved.” Faendal reached over to help drag another bandit to the chosen tunnel, while Trav’lar and Marc made their way down the other path. A drawn wooden causeway blocked the tunnel. 

Marc pulled the lever and the causeway slowly started to come down, chain clanking loudly as it lowered. Trav’lar got ready, if there were still bandit, there was no way they would have missed the racket they were creating. Sure enough, when the walkway was lowered enough, the three bandits waiting on the other side spotted them.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you!” The bandits ran toward them, climbing the still partially raised walkway, and Trav’lar easily dropped the first bandit, the other two ducking for a second, before rushing forward even faster. They were fully engaged with Marc now, so Trav’lar drew his dagger and ran in to assist.

He got a surprise hit in, then almost lost his head as the bandit swung his mace around, trying to find who had stabbed him in the armpit. Trav’lar stepping in again, but was too close to avoid the return swing of the mace and it slammed into his right side, knocking him into the guard. They both fell to the wooden bridge, as did Marc’s now dead opponent. The last bandit raised his mace, and Trav’lar kicked out, knocking the bandit off balance and into the water below.

Marc was up first, checking to make sure the bandits still on the bridge were dead, before looking down into the pool of water below them. Trav’lar joined him and looked down at the body that was now lying motionless at the bottom of the pool.

“I guess he couldn’t swim.”

“Maybe he hit his head? I didn’t hurt him too badly.” Trav’lar shrugged after a moment, then started making his way down the ramp.

“Where are you going?”

“To move the body. If we are going to be here for a while, we will need a clean water source, so we don’t want bodies fouling the water.” When he reached the edge, he quickly stripped off his weapons and armor, grimacing as it pulled at his sore ribs, leaving him in his undertunic and pants.

It took two tries to get the body up to the water’s edge, but soon Marc was helping him drag it from the water, and Trav’lar wiped wet hair out of his eyes.

“That is an unusual pendant for a bandit to have.” Trav’lar snorted a laugh. Any jewelry a bandit had was sure to be stolen. “Perhaps that is what that girl was looking for.”

“Did you see how she killed that bandit, makes you wonder—” Trav’lar tossed the necklace to the guard.

“Here, you give it to her then.” Trav’lar grabbed up his things, not going to put them on over wet clothing.

“Uh, well, um.” Trav’lar smirked at the guard.

“You were wondering, now you can ask her.” The guard paled and Trav’lar headed toward the entrance of the mine, checking to see if there were any more bandits. He didn’t see the tripwire in the dark, and triggered a rockfall trap, barely dodging out of the way and running back to avoid it.

“What was that? Are you alright?”

“Rockfall trap, should be the last one.” The mer headed back up, stepping around the large rocks and reaching the wooden door. He peeked through the openings, not seeing anyone, or any sign of the dragon. Trav’lar pulled the door open, and looked around, quickly deciding that all the bandits had been taken care of. He turned back, hoping to get next to a fire and dry off. When he and the guardsman reached the main chamber, he saw that most of the villagers had been settled and the fear calmed. The Captain approached them, taking in Trav’lar’s wet appearance.

“Report.” While Marc filled in the Captain, Trav’lar moved to join a few women who were gathered around a fire, eager to dry off. Thankfully Carlotta wasn’t among them and he placed his things on a chair and stood in front of the flames.

“Trav’lar what happened? You’re wet!” His cousin quickly joined him next to the fire, but kept a bit back when an older woman pointed a wooden spoon at him threateningly. Seems Faendal tried to help with the food preparations.

“I fished a bandit out of the pool near the entrance of the mine. If we are stuck in here for a few days, we will need the clean water.” Faendal relaxed a bit, then pointed to a tunnel opening.

“I have some of your things, enough for you to change into something dry. You can change in there, looks to be a storage room.” Trav’lar gratefully moved to the small store room, finding his pack sitting next to Faendal’s. It seemed his cousin had taken a moment to grab his still packed bag and make up one for himself before heading to the mine.

He stripped out of his wet things, shivering a bit as cool air hit wet skin. Feeling along his ribs, he didn’t find any bleeding, and decided they were only bruised. Trav’lar ran his fingers though his hair, shaking his head to try and dry it as much as possible, before smoothing it out of his face. One of the women approached him as he reentered the main chamber, making grabby hands at his clothing.

“Hand those over, I’ll set them to dry by the fire.” Trav’lar did so, taking a longer look around now that things had gotten organized. The blacksmith was set up by the forge, no surprise there, with his family, as well as those from the Inn. Gerder’s family was across the water, sitting at a table near where the women were cooking, the Stormcloak glaring toward the forge ever now and then, until an elbow from his sister made him sullenly turn away.

Everyone was spread up and down the tunnels, dirt scrapped over the blood, with guardsmen keeping watch at the furthest ends.

“I never caught your name.” Trav’lar turned, the guard captain was standing next to him, helmet held under one arm, and Trav’lar was surprised to see the man was a Redguard.

“Trav’lar. My cousin is Faendal, he lives in Riverwood.” Trav’lar replied defensively. The man chuckled and held out a hand.

“I am Captain Roggar. Thank you for your assistance, we may have been caught by surprise otherwise. Not to mention too late for Rolf.” The Captain held onto his hand, though the mer tried to pull away.

“Unfortunately, I am familiar with a dragon’s roar, I was in Helgen when it was destroyed.” Trav’lar couldn’t help the shudder that went through him, one Roggar noticed through their clasped hands.

“Monstrous beasts aren’t they?” Roggar dropped his hand and took another look around the mine. “Do you think it will hang around Riverwood? Or move on?”

Trav’lar sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, then wiped his wet hand on his pants. “I’m no expert, but it seems to be drawn to activity. The extra soldiers in Helgen, those bandits by Bleak Falls. If it had come by later in the day, it might have attacked Riverwood instead.”

The Captain nodded thoughtfully. “So, making everyone leave for Whiterun wouldn’t work, just draw its attention to us.” Just then Camilla stepped forward, her brother right behind her.

“Excuse me Captain, if the dragon is gone, would you allow me to go out and retrieve something? Those bandits stole something from us.”

“No!” Her brother grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away. “No thief chasing, no adventures, especially not with a dragon out there.”

“Well someone needs to.” Camilla yanked her arm free and placed both hands on her hips. “Do you want to become known as the merchant that let those thieves get away with stealing from you? Do you Lucan?”

“Camilla, there is a dragon. This isn’t Cyrodil, every merchant here has been stolen from by bandits or thieves or beggars even.” Lucan was speaking to her as though she was rather dumb. Suddenly Faendal was standing next to Camilla, touching her gently on the wrist.

“You could spin it, say that anyone who steals from you gets punished quickly. Like those bandits that were attacked by the dragon.” Camilla smiled at Faendal and turned to her brother, completely missing the glare coming from Trav’lar.

“Yes, that would be perfect. The thieves stole the claw, angering the dragon, and it destroyed them.” Trav’lar was confused at her idea.

“Wait, claw? And how would the dragon have known they had stolen it? Why not say they got what was coming to them?” Lucan sighed as Camilla glared down her nose at Trav’lar.

“Yes, it’s an ornament. Looks like a dragon’s hand, solid gold too.”

“And you’re sure the thieves went to Bleak Falls afterwards?” Camilla scoffed.

“Yes, don’t know why, there is nothing but trolls and wolves up there. Not to mention the draugr inside.” Trav’lar could feel a headache forming. The thieves were inside Bleak Falls, and had some sort of dragon artifact. The Wizard in Whiterun wanted him to find another dragon artifact in the barrow. The two had to be connected, unfortunately there was a dragon between him and the barrow. The Captain stepped forward and put a stop to the argument.

“No one will be leaving for at least two days, perhaps longer if the dragon hangs around. We need to make absolutely sure the dragon is gone before we even try to leave the mine.” Camilla nods to him and walks away, her grumbling brother behind her. One of the guardsmen came up to the Captain.

“Do we have enough supplies to stay that long? There are more than 20 people here.”

“Almost 30 with the miners, but yes, they had a good supply of food, we should be fine.”

 

It was a long two days, with the Stormcloak trying to start a fight, and Camilla’s nagging, but finally they were leaving the mine and returning to an untouched Riverwood. Trav’lar quickly returned to this cousin’s home to grab the last of his things and headed out to Bleak Falls Barrow. Not far up the mountain path, he started coming across signs of the dragon’s passage, blackened ground and burned trees, then the rotting corpses for the bandits that had been occupying the tower. No animals had been at the corpses, though what would want to take a chance at disturbing a dragon’s kill he wasn’t sure. Except Trav’lar had to go through the corpses, and the tower, to see if these bandits had the claw. The bandits didn’t have the claw, or much of anything, except a few coins and gems that Trav’lar pocketed. 

He moved on up the mountain, grimacing as snow started falling the higher he climbed. It would hide him from bandits, but would also hide them from him, and they wouldn’t be walking. He slowed down as the barrow loomed above him, noticing the melted snow and ice, signs the dragon had been here as well. Sure enough, when he got near the doors of the barrow, he found dead bandits, some burned, but one had been dropped from a great height. Positive there were more bandits inside, Trav’lar cautiously entered the barrow.

 

Trav’lar grimaced as he removed another arrow from the bandit before him. He didn’t like the looks of things already, and he was still in the entrance hall. The bandits hadn’t planned on being inside for so long, and had run out of food, resorting to cooking skeever over the fire. From the number of dead ones behind him, the place was crawling with the creatures.

When Trav’lar reached the doorway completely blocked by webbing, he almost left the thief then and there, pleading for help or not. He backed up until he was closer to where the thief was caught in webbing and called to him through a hole in the wall.

“Is it still in there?”

“What?” The thief sounded confused and tried twisting around to try and find him. “Is what still here?”

“The spider. Is the spider still around?”

“I haven’t seen it since it dragged my friend away, hours ago. Please get me down, I don’t want to die.” Trav’lar sighed and headed back to the entrance way, to start cutting through the webbing, if the spider was busy consuming its prey, it might ignore the tugs as he cut through the webs. With his dagger, he cut enough away to slip into the next room.

“Oh Kynereth.” The room was coated from floor to ceiling with spider webbing, egg sacks stacked as tall as he was in the corners, and dried out husks of animals and people littered the floor. The Dunmer thief was partially wrapped up on the far side of the room, half caught through a doorway, and started thrashing around when he spotted Trav’lar.

“Hurry cut me down before it comes back!”

“Shh, and stop moving.” Trav’lar started creeping along the wall, looking for anywhere the spider could be hiding at. He finally reached the thief, who kept struggling.

“Get me down!”

“Be quiet.” Trav’lar hissed at the thief and started cutting at the webbing around his upper body. He had the Dunmer mostly free when the other mer started screaming.

“NO! Hurry, don’t let it eat me!” Trav’lar spun around, then looked up as a body fell from the ceiling, spotting the giant Frostbite Spider lowering itself from a tunnel along the ceiling.

Desperately reaching deep inside himself, Trav’lar thrust all his magic at the spider in a wave of fire, feeling his magic pool quickly draining. The creature shrieked in pain and dropped the rest of the way to the floor, legs thrashing around as it fell on its side. Trav’lar turned back to the thief, who’s dark skin was now a pale grey from fear.

“No, no it’s not dead! Look out!” Trav’lar yanked the dagger through one last strand, then felt something wet and burning hit him on the side of the face. Instantly he lost the vision in his right eye, and he dropped the dagger to reach up and try to wipe away the glob of spit and venom that was sliding down his face and neck. He barely caught the sound of many legs moving, over the thief’s screams, and shot another blast of fire at the spider.

Trav’lar’s remaining vision blurred and he felt himself falling, his left arm getting caught in sticky web, and he got twisted up, landing on his right side, facing the web coated wall, with the spider near his feet. His head spun as the poison moved through him, feeling as though ice was going through him, making his limbs weak, and his vision completely fade out.

“Are you dead?” The thief was standing near his head, and Trav’lar heard a sword being unsheathed. He was prodded in the back, then it sounded like the thief was backing away. “Well, looks like you both took care of each other. Now I won’t have to share the treasure with anyone.”

The thief ran down the passageway, leaving Trav’lar laying on the floor, a dead spider at his feet.


	3. Whiterun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I guess we'll aim for Friday updates.

Chapter 3

Trav’lar had never been knocked unconscious by Frostbite poison before, so he didn’t know how long he’d been laying on the floor. When his vision finally started to clear, he dragged himself partway up and leaned against a section of wall that wasn’t covered in webs, as much as he could with limbs that were still tingling and cold. He used some of his recovered magic to heal his eye, bringing some sight back, hopefully the damage wasn’t too bad or permanent. Luckily, his fallen dagger was close enough for him to grab and cut himself loose from the webbing, scrapping as much off his armor as he could.

Dragging himself to his feet was difficult, with some lingering dizziness. Still, Trav’lar drew his bow and headed down the same tunnel the thief had, and was surprised when he came across the long dead bodies. He’d never been in a Nord barrow, so seeing the dried-out bodies lying in their alcoves, some wrapped, some not, was disconcerting, and a bit disgusting. Some of the bodies showed signs of having been disturbed, and jars had been knocked over or smashed, possibly by other thieves and grave robbers. Something growled at him and Trav’lar came almost face to face with a walking corpse.

The draugr swiped at him with its sword and Trav’lar jumped back with a cry of alarm, shooting an arrow into the dried corpse. It took a step forward and Trav’lar sent another arrow into the thing’s skull, and it collapsed.

“Oh Kynareth.” All the dodging had made him dizzy again. He wouldn’t be able to effectively use the bow against them, the arrows not really doing much to knock them down. He picked up the draugr’s sword, it was sharp enough for him to use to knock down the draugr faster, even if it meant getting closer to them.

He didn’t get much further past a trap, when he spotted the thief’s body, and another draugr walking around. An arrow shot past him from behind and hit the draugr, which stumbled. Trav’lar spun around, sword raised, and saw his cousin.

“Faendal?” The other mer was nocking another arrow and Trav’lar turned to the fight ahead. Four draugr later and Trav’lar was fending off his concerned cousin, slapping at hands that poked and prodded at him.

“Faendal stop. Why are you here?” Faendal frowned and took a closer look at his cousin’s eyes, grabbing the sides of his head to tilt it from side to side.

“The Captain mentioned he’d seen you heading up here and Camilla was talking about that ornament that had been stolen and how someone, was brave enough to go look for it. That was almost 2 days ago.”

“What!” Trav’lar was unconscious a lot longer than he thought he’d been.

“Well, a day and a half, but I was worried so I came after you.” Faendal lifted a glowing hand and Trav’lar felt some more pain leach away, and his vison sharpened. “Was this from a Frostbite spider? I saw a big one just some ways back.”

“It got me just before I killed it.” Trav’lar pulled away, though Faendal was reluctant to let go, and started searching though the thief’s things. He quickly found the large golden claw in the dunmer’s rucksack, along with a worn and stained notebook.

“I’m guessing that is Lucan’s damn ornament.” Trav’lar was surprised at the venom in his cousin’s voice and turned to him, seeing him glaring at the gold claw. “We’ve found it, now let’s go.”

“I can’t yet.” Faendal spun on him.

“What? Why not?” Trav’lar flipped through the notebook and found the comment on the clue being on the palm.

“I need to get something from the main chamber for the Wizard in Whiterun.” Faendal threw his hands up in frustration and paced back and forth a bit, Trav’lar just watched him. After a few moments of grumbling, Faendal turned back to his cousin.

“Fine, let’s get this over with.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“I never imagined the barrow was going to be this big. I understand the Nords need to bury their dead, but the rest of this?” Faendal gestured to the large chamber they had just entered and Trav’lar had to agree. The strange puzzle door with a dragon’s hand as the key? Who designed it, and when?

“Well, the wizard believes there is something here that has to do with dragons, perhaps there was a dragon worshiping cult?”

“But how were they able to make such extensive tunnels? Some were naturally carved yes, but the others? And what about that?” That, turned out to be a huge freestanding wall, with strange carvings along the top and what looked like writing near the base, across the small creek that was flowing through the chamber, up by the large stone platform. Trav’lar had to laugh at his cousin.

“I never knew you were so interested in Nord architecture.” They crossed the creek on the stone bridge and Trav’lar took in a deep breath, the water was fresh and clean smelling. 

“I’m not! Nords just aren’t making sense.” A blue light coming from the wall caught Trav’lar’s attention. He climbed the steps, squinting as his vision started to blur. He thought he could hear chanting and looked around, but only Faendal and him were in the chamber. One word on the wall seemed to be the origin of the glowing, and he stepped closer, then everything went black.

~ ~ ~ ~

Faendal watched as his cousin drew closer to the strange wall and scoffed. “And you said I was interested in Nord architecture.” Strangely enough, his cousin didn’t respond or laugh, just kept walking to the wall. One hand reached out to touch the wall, and the younger mer collapsed.

“Trav’lar!” Faendal rushed up the steps and knelt next to his cousin. The other mer was unconscious, and wouldn’t wake to Faendal’s shaking or calls. There was a sudden grinding noise from behind and Faendal looked around just in time to see the lid of a stone coffin fall to the floor, and a dried hand reach over the edge.

“Oh, you must be joking.” Fueled by fear for his cousin, Faendal snatched up the younger mer’s sword and brought it around at the creature’s neck, easily removing the draugr’s head. It collapsed, halfway out of the coffin and Faendal dropped the sword, hurrying back to his cousin’s side.

“Trav’lar, come on, wake up.” Worried that perhaps his cousin had triggered some sort of trap when he touched the wall, Faendal grabbed him by this armor and dragged him away. Closer to the dead draugr unfortunately, but further away from the wall. Faendal removed his cousin’s weapons and pack, propping his head up with the bedroll.

“I knew we should have turned around when we found the claw, thing must be cursed.” From what he could see, his cousin had no injuries and didn’t seem poisoned. Faendal narrowed his eyes and glared down at his cousin. “You better not have collapsed from exhaustion, you were supposed to be relaxing.”

Only the roaring of the waterfall answered him, and Faendal readied himself for a long wait. He placed a hand on his cousin’s forehead, no sign of fever, and sent some healing magic into him, focusing on the eye, the least he could do. “The things you go through for family.”

~ ~ ~ ~

When Trav’lar woke up, it took him a while to realize the roaring he could hear wasn’t from a dragon, but from the falls inside the barrow.

“Finally awake, are you?” Trav’lar blinked a few times then turned his head to the side, where his cousin was sitting. “You’ve been out for almost half a candle-mark, by my best guess. What happened?”

Trav’lar sat up, surprised to feel rested, though a bit sore from the stone floor. “One of the words on the wall was glowing, and I could hear chanting, then nothing.”

“You don’t remember touching the wall?” Trav’lar stared at said wall, noticing nothing was glowing and there was no chanting.

“No, I don’t.” Trav’lar stood and suddenly spotted the decapitated draugr. “Where did that come from?”

“It popped out of the casket there, but it will stay dead now.” Faendal started gathering up their things. “Well, now that you are awake, let’s get out of here before something else happens.”

“Not yet, I still have that tablet to find, and this is where it should be.” Trav’lar spotted the chest and hauled himself to his feet, moving to it and cracked it open. Inside were a few gold coins, some gems, rusted weapons and old armor, it looked like the draugr was placing pieces of the grave robbers it killed inside the chest, but no tablet. He left the chest open and moved to the coffin. “This must be it.”

Trav’lar grabbed the tablet he could see from underneath the draugr, and almost had a heart attack when the draugr’s corpse moved. He jerked back, reaching for the dagger he didn’t have, which was fortunate for Faendal, who was laughing, one hand on the draugr’s foot.

“Fine, we’re leaving.” Trav’lar shouldered his way past his still laughing cousin, and carefully wrapped the tablet in a piece of leather, and placed it in his pack. Faendal shouldered his as well and headed back across the creek.

“Wait, where do you think those stairs go?” Faendal turned back around.

“No, we are leaving, no more exploring strange Nord tunnels.” Trav’lar rolled his eyes, but picked up his pack, making sure his bow was secured as well, and picked up the draugr sword.

“Fine, fine. We’re leaving.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Faendal was unusually quiet on their way back to Riverwood, and he seemed tense. Trav’lar really didn’t want to get into an argument, so he didn’t bother his cousin. He just hoped whatever was bothering his cousin wasn’t about him, but with what happened in the barrow, it most likely was. Thankfully, they reached Riverwood without seeing any dragons, or wolves, or bandits, everything still hunkering down from the dragon attack, and Trav’lar was happy to hand over the claw, and eager to have something hot in front of a fire.

Trav’lar could feel his cousin tense when he spotted Camilla, who was simpering at them both. Trav’lar quickly dropped the claw on the counter in front of Lucan, trying to not let his disgust show.

“You found it!” The Imperial blinked at the claw in surprise for a moment, then bent down to shuffle through things below the counter, coming back up with a good-sized bag in hand. “Here, 400 gold, what I promised.”

Trav’lar grabbed the bag, thanking him and turned to leave, he didn’t remember the man saying he would pay to have the claw returned, but 400 gold was a lot of money. Shockingly, Faendal was still standing next to the door, not even looking in Camilla’s direction, though she kept trying to get his attention, at least until Trav’lar started heading to the door, and she approached the younger mer.

“We are so glad to have the claw back. I know Lucan already paid you, but perhaps we could go to the Inn tonight and I could buy you a mead or two.”

“Thank you, Camilla, but my cousin and I have things to do, we will be too busy I’m afraid.” Trav’lar blinked in surprise as his cousin wrapped an arm around his shoulder and practically forced him out the door, and down the road before Camilla could respond. Just not in the direction of his house.

“Um, where are we going?”

“Whiterun of course, oh wait.” Faendal released him long enough to run over to the mill, say something to the man standing there, wave, and join Trav’lar on the road again. “Ok, let’s go.”

“Did you just quit your job at the mill?” Faendal laughed but kept walking.

“Even if I did, they would welcome me back. Sven likes to get drunk on the job, did you know he has been trying to blame his shoddy work on me? Anyway, I just told Hod that I needed a few days.” Trav’lar turned to look back towards Riverwood.

“Could we get something hot to eat before we leave? Up there by the barrow was cold.” Faendal turned to Trav’lar with desperation in his eyes.

“I will pay for a hot meal when we get to Whiterun, if I don’t leave now, I don’t think I can later.” Trav’lar looked at his cousin, seeing lines in his face that weren’t there before, and the tension from before was still there.

“Alright, the walk will warm me up a bit at least.” Trav’lar mulled over what he had seen in Lucan’s shop during the walk. Finally, when the meadery started to come into view Trav’lar decided to try and figure out what was bothering his cousin.

“Does it have to do with Camilla?”

“What? What has to do with her?”

“Your choice to leave Riverwood with me. You know what I think about that woman, but why the sudden change of heart?” Faendal was quiet for a moment, a frown creasing his face.

“She put you in danger.” Trav’lar turned to him in surprise.

“She did? How?”

“By asking you to get that damned claw, and she didn’t even ask me, or think about how I would feel having my cousin go up to the barrow alone. She knows you are my cousin, and honestly…” Faendal sighed and slumped a little. “I know she has been flirting with both Sven and I, not really committing to either of us, nor do I think she plans to. I’m tired of it.”

Trav’lar gripped his cousin’s shoulder in support. Personally, he was glad his cousin was away from that woman, and was also glad he’d decided to join him in going to Whiterun. It gave him some distance, so she couldn’t sink her claws back into him.

“Good, and coming to Whiterun will help you forget her for a few days, get drunk, and hunt with the brothers.” Faendal laughed.

“There is no way I’m going hunting with those two, if either of them has been drinking in the slightest.” With that, the tension seemed to leave the older mer, and the rest of the trek to Whiterun was more relaxed.

~ ~ ~ ~

Anoriath waved to them from his stall, as they made their way up to Dragonsreach, they promise to visit the brothers later. Trav’lar was torn between stopping to eat first, or unload the dragonstone he’d found. Eventually he decided to just get it over with, then he could take his time in relaxing afterwards.

“What happened to the Gildergreen?” Faendal stopped in shock when he saw the dead tree in the middle of the square.

“Elrindir says it was struck by lightning a while back, but with all the wounded soldiers, Danica hasn’t had time for it.” Faendal muttered a curse and spat on the ground, away from the tree.

“Damn woman doesn’t have her priorities straight.”

“Elrindir and Anoriath both tried to offer ways to help, or get a new sapling, but Danica said there was nothing to do.” Faendal frowned at the tree, then bowed his head slightly.

“Once we take care of this dragonstone of yours, I think the four of us should talk to Danica. This can’t be allowed to continue.” They stood there for a moment, heads bowed as they gave a short prayer to Kynareth, then walked around the square, trying to avoid making eye contact with the man shouting by the shrine of Talos, and started their climb up to Dragonsreach.

~ ~ ~ ~

Trav’lar was starting to wish he had at least stopped to wash up a bit, suddenly aware of how much dirt and grime still covered him, including the sticky residue from the webs. The guards eyed them suspiciously, until one guard seemed to recognize them.

“You came from Riverwood, didn’t you? Are they safe, did the dragon attack?” Faendal paused and stared at the man for a moment.

“Rofgar?” The man startled for a moment, then smiled.

“Oh, you are that elf that works at the mill. It’s been years, how have you been?”

“The same, until the dragon got close to the village, but everyone was able to take cover in the mine until it left.” Faendal frowned, then grimaced. “Your sister fell foul to some bandits while she was mining, though she helped get rid of them at the end.”

“What! Middi? Is she alright?” Faendal looked uncomfortable, and Trav’lar nudged him, gesturing toward the end of the hall. Faendal nodded and stayed behind to relay the unpleasant news to someone he’d watch grow up. Trav’lar continued up to the Wizard’s chambers, and was surprised to see someone else there, leaning over a book while the wizard paced.

“I’m convinced this is a copy of a much older text, perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with the other later texts.” His companion was hooded and wore a cloak that covered their body, strange for being inside. When they spoke, their voice was rough and hard to determine if they were human, or elf, male or female. It put Trav’lar on edge.

“Good. I’m glad you’re making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers.” The wizard chuckled.

“Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so now I’m able to devote most of my time to this research.”

“Time is running out, Farengar, don’t forget.” The cloaked figure’s voice dropped even lower. “This is not some theoretical question. Dragons have come back.”

“Yes, yes, don’t worry.” Farengar turned away to fiddle with something on his potions table. “Although, the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable…Now let me show you something else I found, very intriguing.”

Farengar turned and caught sight of Trav’lar. “Ah yes, the Jarl’s protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow, you didn’t die it seems. Did you find—” The wizard stopped as Trav’lar pulled the leather wrapped stone from his pack, handing it over to the eager man, who unwrapped it almost reverently. Trav’lar was watching the other, who had started in surprise when Farengar had noticed Trav’lar and was now watching the young hunter just as carefully back.

“The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow.” He looked Trav’lar over a little critically. “You did this much more easily than the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way, perhaps I need to employ more elves in the future.”

Farengar’s companion moved around the table and started to leave. “Make sure you send me a copy when you’ve deciphered it.” Trav’lar barely got out of the way when the Jarl’s housecarl ran into the room, followed by Faendal.

“Farengar! You need to come at once, a dragon has been sighted nearby.” She spotted Trav’lar and his cousin. “You should come too, your experience with the dragon will be needed.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” She ran back out the door, seemingly having not heard him, Farengar throwing questions at her back, Dragonstone forgotten on the table. Trav’lar moved to follow but was stopped by Faendal’s hand around his arm.

“What are you doing? You said it yourself, you didn’t do anything. We just got away from a dragon, and now you want to go running back?”

“I can’t just ignore a summons by the Jarl’s housecarl, and maybe we can learn where it is at, and if it threatens Riverwood or Whiterun.” Faendal sighed and rubbed his forehead, as though he was developing a headache.

“You are right, let’s go.”

Up the stairs with the Jarl, was also a soldier, chugging down a mug of water and gasping for air. Once he could talk, he informed the Jarl how the dragon was spotted near a watchtower, not far from the city, and he had been selected to raise the alarm. He was lucky the dragon hadn’t gone after him.

“Irileth, you better gather some guardsmen and get down there.” Irileth nodded.

“I’ve already ordered some of my men to muster near the main gate. I also brought these two to assist.” The Jarl turned to the cousins and nodded in recognition. 

“Yes, I remember you. You are the one who raised the alarm for Riverwood. Your experience with dragons will be welcome.” Trav’lar frowned and stepped forward.

“That’s the problem sir, I don’t have any experience with dragons, I tried my hardest to not face any. I wouldn’t know how to fight one.” The Jarl frowned and the housecarl scoffed.

“You are a hunter, correct?” Trav’lar nodded at the Jarl’s question. “You have watched the dragons, seen how they fly and attack, all to avoid encountering them. Treat them as any other beast you would hunt.”

Trav’lar rubbed his face, turning away from the four expectant faces before him. The Jarl was watching him with hope, the guard as well, Irileth was sneering at him, and Farengar looked like he wanted to drag him away and ask him questions about dragons.

“Alright, I’ll try my best.”

“Trav’lar!” Faendal stepped closer to his cousin, but Trav’lar just turned to him.

“What else can I do Faendal? I have survived two dragon encounters. I’m the only one here who has seen them up close and what they can do. The Jarl is right, they are like any other animal, a big, intelligent one, that likes to hunt people, but still an animal.” Faendal looked to the others, most of whom now looked relieved, while Irileth just looked impatient to leave.

“Alright, you aren’t going out there alone. I’m going with you.” Trav’lar turned to the Jarl.

“Is there any way my cousin and I can get stronger bows? Our hunting bows won’t have enough power to get the right height, or pierce through the dragon’s skin.” The Jarl nodded.

“Yes, Irileth, have them stop by the armory and get some new weapons. You will need all the help you can get against the dragon.”

“I would like to come along, I would very much like to see this dragon.” As the Jarl spoke with Farengar, Irileth gestured for the cousins to follow her. They stopped by the main armory, where they got some new bows with more curve to them, Imperial in design, and more steel tipped arrows.

As they started toward the main gate, Faendal quickly explained to Anoriath why they wouldn’t be stopping by just yet. The other mer quickly started to close his shop, going to join his brother inside the Drunken Huntsman, just in case the dragon headed to Whiterun. With the other guardsmen, Irileth quickly explained the situation. As they headed out, Irileth turned to Trav’lar.

“Any advice for the dragon?” Trav’lar took a deep breath as all the guardsmen turned their attention on him. He didn’t like Nords, but right now it was life or death.

“From what I’ve seen, they favor being in the air. More room to move, and you can only shoot at them, or throw magic their way. If it is the same dragon from Helgen or Riverwood, then it breathes fire, so getting something between you and its attack is important.”

“We should spread out then, make it harder for it to get as many of us at once.” One of the guards spoke, the others nodding along.

“Our best chance is to ground it, shoot holes in its wings so it can no longer stay up in the air, but then we have teeth and wings to deal with.”

“So, like fighting a fire breathing mammoth.” Trav’lar looked at the man in shock, who in their right mind would go up against a mammoth? The man just shrugged while others chuckled. All too soon they could see smoke rising in the air from the direction of the watchtower. Irileth crouched down and took them off the road to some rocks that kept them hidden from view.

“I believe we can assume the dragon breathes fire. No sign of it right now, but it sure has been here.” Irileth turned to the gathered men. “I know it looks bad, but we’ve got to see what has happened, and if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look from survivors, we need to know exactly what we are dealing with.”

Irileth and half the men moved toward the tower, while Trav’lar and the others moved toward what used to be the training yard. The breeze brought the smell of charred meat to them and a few guardsmen started choking. Trav’lar spotted two burning bodies, and one that was only half burned, but still dead.

“No! Get back!” A man ran from the tower and looked down to them. “It’s still here somewhere Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it.”

Irileth ran up the ruined walkway to the man. “Guardsman, what happened here? Where is the dragon? Quickly now!”

“I don’t know.” Suddenly a roar echoed through the air, and Trav’lar spun around, spotting the dragon approaching from the mountains, and noted the lack of long black spines. “Kynareth save us, here he comes again!”

Trav’lar spun to the men around him. “Quick! Back against the wall, it will block any fire it sends at us, then we can attack as it goes by.”

“Here it comes! Take cover and make every arrow count!” The dragon roared again and Trav’lar watched the men on the wall across from them, when they readied their bows Trav’lar directed the guards with him to do the same. Bows raised, they waited for the moment the dragon flew over them.

As soon as he saw the head appear, Trav’lar released his arrow, shouting. “Fire!” And six more arrows were released. Two were wing shots, and the others that he could see, bounced off the dragon’s scaled body. The dragon roared, distracted from those ahead of him, and that is when Irileth unleashed a great bolt of lightning.

As the dragon veered away, arrows filled the air and Trav’lar could almost feel the dragon’s gaze lock onto their position.

“Move, move! Scatter and take cover!” Trav’lar ran for a gap in the wall, the dragon’s roar echoing in his bones. Darting through the gap, he almost tripped on another burned corpse, and turned toward the tower, following the wall back around to Irileth.

Another bolt of lightning shot out, making the dragon roar again, followed by the sound of something large hitting the ground.

“It’s down! Give it all you got!” Trav’lar climbed onto the fallen wall and joined in. There were a few men with swords moving in, dodging around the dragon’s snapping jaws and clawed wings. One man got snatched up in the great jaws, the monster’s head whipped from side to side, then released the limp man to slam into the stone wall. Trav’lar released another arrow as Irileth shot out another bolt of lightning. The dragon thrashed around, letting out another roar, before finally falling completely to the ground and laying still. Irileth jumped down from her perch on the wall, and cautiously approached the downed dragon.

“Let’s make sure that overgrown lizard is really dead.” The housecarl slapped a hand down on Trav’lar’s shoulder. “Damn good shooting boys.”

Trav’lar spotted his cousin walking around some wall debris, a guardsman’s arm slung over his shoulder as he helped the human limp along. As they drew closer to the dragon, it seemed to light up from the inside, before suddenly starting to burn.

“What’s happening?” Irileth grabbed a guardsman that was close to the dragon and started pulling him back.

“Everybody get back!” Trav’lar backed away but quickly found himself with his back to a stone wall. The wind started up, then rushed toward him, pushing him against the wall even more, the air heating as is there was a fire. He felt a burning in his chest and he fell to his knees. When the wind vanished, he looked up from where he knelt, and saw the only thing that remained from the dragon, was its skeleton.

“Trav’lar! Trav’lar, are you alright?” Faendal was kneeling at his side, pulling on his arm to help him stand.

“Yeah, I think so.” His voice sounded weak and Faendal quickly had a glowing hand running over him. Some soreness from the fight faded away but he still wavered a bit on his feet.

“I can’t find anything wrong.” Faendal grabbed him by both arms and looked him in the eye. “Are you sure you are alright?”

The guardsmen had gathered around them, one stepping forward with a look of awe. “I can’t believe it, you’re, Dragonborn.”

“What?” Trav’lar had no idea what the man was talking about.

“In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons, and steal their power. That’s what you did, isn’t it? Absorbed that dragon’s power.”

“What are you…that doesn’t make any sense!”

“There is only one way to find out. Try to shout, that will prove it.”

“Shout?” Trav’lar had no idea what the Nord was talking about. Shout? Taking a dragon’s power? Faendal gripped him tighter, placing himself between his cousin and the guardsmen.

“What are you talking about? And what did you call him?”

“According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can shout without training, the way the dragons do.” Another guard started in surprise.

“That’s right! My grandfather used to tell me stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the dragon blood in ‘em. Like old Tiber Septim himself.” A third guard laughed.

“I’ve never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons. And he wasn’t an elf either.” The second guard went quiet while the first spoke again.

“There weren’t any dragons then, idiot. They are just coming back for the first time in…forever.” Now the guardsmen turned back to Trav’lar. “But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn, who could kill dragons and steal their power. You must be one.”

“What do you say, Irileth? You’ve been awfully quiet.” The guard who had laughed joined in with a smirk.

“Come on Irileth, tell us. Do you believe in this Dragonborn business?” The housecarl finished wiping her sword clean and sheathed it.

“Here is a dead dragon. Now we know we can kill them, but we don’t need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me.” A guard with a large black beard spoke up.

“You wouldn’t understand Housecarl, you ain’t a Nord.” Irileth raised a brow and gestured to the two cousins.

“Neither are they and you want to call one Dragonborn. Now I’ve seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this, so I’d advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword and your brothers, over tales and legends.” The young guardsman turned to the others.

“She has a point. The Dragonborn is a Nord tale, how then is an elf Dragonborn?” The whole time the guards were arguing, Faendal stayed between them and his cousin, who was shaking and fighting against the burning in his chest that was building. Groaning as it suddenly surged through him, Trav’lar barely had a chance to turn away from his cousin before the feeling reached a breaking point, and something burst from him.

“FUS!” One unlucky guardsman tumbled to the ground, knocked over by the strange force that had come from the elf. He looked up at Trav’lar in shock, his helmet missing, showing he was the guard who had been laughing earlier.

“By the gods! What manner of power is that?”

“That was shouting, what you just did, the power of the Dragonborn. Must be.” The guard smiled as Trav’lar panted and leaned shakily against the broken wall. “You really are Dragonborn then.”

Trav’lar groaned and turned to face the wall. His head was pounding, and he felt hot all over, sweat drenched the tunic under his armor. His cousin gripped him tighter by the arm and pulled him upright. “Come on Trav’lar, let’s get out of here.” 

Irileth grimaced and looked around, looking at who was standing, and who was down. Finally, she pointed at the guard who had been hit by the shout.

“Are you injured?” The guard shook his head. “Good, run ahead and tell the Jarl what happened, and get the wagon sent here. You should wait for the wagon, I’m not sure what happened, but your cousin doesn’t look like he could make the walk back to the city.” 

Faendal nodded and pulled Trav’lar along with him, moving off to the side of the group, eager to get away from the bickering guards and their strange Nord tales. Trav’lar staggered along, and gratefully sank to the ground when Faendal stopped by another section of wall, this one making up the approach to the tower. His cousin started tugging at his armor, loosening the ties and allowing some air to get in, making Trav’lar shiver from the sudden cooling.

“Are you alright? What just happened?” Trav’lar coughed a bit and Faendal handed him their water skin.

“It was a bit like the wall in Bleak Falls. When the wind started up, my vision blurred, and I thought I heard the voices chanting again, then it felt like something was pressing into me, through my chest. Then it just built until that shout thing happened.” Faendal ran a hand through his hair and looked back towards the guards. Irileth was directing those that could, to tend to the injured, and every now and then, a guard would look their way. Faendal stared them down until they turned back.

He turned back to his younger cousin and moved their things around. “Rest here until the wagon comes, we’ll worry about this after you’ve rested.”

“But what if it happens again?” Trav’lar looked around nervously. “What if I hurt someone, or the brothers? What if I damage—”

Faendal pushed the younger mer down gently, and Trav’lar lay back. “Like I said, we’ll worry about this after you’ve rested. If you are so worried about it, just tell me if you start feeling it again, I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

When the wagons from Whiterun finally arrived, the injured guards had been bandaged up, and Trav’lar was asleep. Faendal had gone around the humans, healing what injuries he could, before going back to his cousin and keeping an eye on him. The younger mer woke up long enough to be loaded up in the wagon, before falling asleep once again, this time propped up on a guard. With the dead wrapped up and in the second wagon, they headed back to the city, now safe from the dragon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, got distracted by Detroit: Become Human.

Chapter 4

The wagons had just reached the gates of the city, when the air shook with thunder and a great voice echoed through the air. “DOVAKIN!!”

Trav’lar and the other sleeping guards were jolted awake, and Faendal held his younger cousin as he looked around in confusion, both wincing from the noise. The horses leading the wagons all reared and stamped the ground, crying out in fear as the guards tried to calm them.

“That, that must have been the Greybeards, calling for the dragonborn.” The guards looked to Trav’lar who was lowering his hands, where he’d brought them up to cover his ears. Faendal shook his head and stuck a finger in one ear, trying to clear out the ringing.

“The Greybeards are summoning you, to High Hrothgar.” Trav’lar stared at the guard for a moment, before slumping forward, his cousin darting closer to catch him.

“Well, those greybeards of yours will have to wait. Come on cousin, let’s get you laid down and resting.” Faendal received a mumble in return, but the younger mer did try to help as he was brought down out of the wagon. Trav’lar was mostly able to stand on his own feet, and let his older cousin lead him to the city.

When they entered the city, it was eerily empty, all the civilians were still hiding in their homes, but faces could be seen looking out the windows at the sky. All the guardsmen were huddled in small groups, talking about the greybeards, which Faendal still didn’t get. He headed to the Drunken Huntsman, eager to get out of sight of all those calling his cousin Dragonborn and was relieved when Elrindir opened the door after his first kick.

“You two look terrible, did you manage to kill the dragon? Did you hear all that noise?” Elrindir took a quick peek around outside, before closing the door and locking it. Anoriath helped Faendal move Trav’lar the last few feet to his bedroll, where they laid the younger mer down. He was asleep before he even touched the mat. Carefully they stripped him of his armor, Faendal looking carefully for any injuries, and tucked him into the blankets.

Elrindir stood by with a skin of water for Faendal, who took it gratefully as he sat down next to the fire. “The dragon is dead, a few guards died in the fight, but that is the least of our problems.”

“Is Trav’lar going to be ok? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so out of it before.” Faendal sighed and rubbed his face, grimacing when he felt soot on his cheek and hand.

“When the dragon was killed, it burst into flames and its flesh vanished, before turning into some kind of force that Trav’lar absorbed. Now the guardsmen are calling him Dragonborn.” The brothers stared at Faendal in shock, glancing at the sleeping mer. “Then when the guards were all arguing about it, he suddenly shouted something, and knocked a guard tumbling.”

“We though we heard thunder, but the skies were clear of clouds, and this last one was even louder, shook the whole building.” Elrindir looked towards the door while Anoriath stood to grab a bottle of something stronger than water.

“The guards were saying something about greybeards. I know some of them refer to their elders that way, but I’ve also heard about some old priests at the top of a mountain. What they have to do with all this dragon business I don’t know, I just want us as far away from it as possible.”

~ ~ ~ ~

_The earth rumbled with thunder, but the skies were clear. A large shape blotted out the sunlight, and the ground shook again as he was buffeted by strong winds. Growls and roars echoed in his head, and his heart pounded as he tried to turn—_

Trav’lar woke with a jolt, though he lay still, staring out at nothing as his heart pounded in his chest. It was dark around him, and it took a moment for him to realize he was staring into the main room of the Drunken Huntsman. Blinking, he looked around as things started to form. He could now see some faint light coming from the coals in the firepit, banked for the night. The chairs surrounding it, a long form in a bedroll near his feet.

Now that his heart was slowing down, the pounding in his head was starting to fade also, as was the humming in his bones that made his hands shake where they were clenching the blanket. Once his breathing was under control, Trav’lar could hear the brothers snoring upstairs, and the light breathing from the bundle near his feet.

“Are you awake?” Faendal murmured from where he lay, and Trav’lar turned to face his cousin.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough and his throat dry, Faendal stretching as he sat up.

“I’ll get you something to drink, you hungry?” Trav’lar weakly rubbed at his eyes.

“What time is it?”

“A few hours before dawn I think.” There was the sound of liquid being poured into a tankard, and Faendal crouched down next to the younger mer. “You’ve been sleeping since we got back to Whiterun.”

Trav’lar pulled himself up, and accepted the water. As he drank, he could feel his energy returning, and soon handed the empty tankard to his cousin.

“What happened after the dragon died? What was that energy?” Faendal sighed and sat next to him, leaning against the wall.

“The guards are calling you Dragonborn, who evidently is the only person who can steal a dragon’s power.” Trav’lar stared at his cousin.

“That was the dragon’s power? What would I use it for?”

“You Shouted at a guard, knocking him over remember? That is the power.” Trav’lar looked around the dark room.

“How am I Dragonborn?” Faendal chuckled.

“That is the big question. The last person who was Dragonborn, was Tiber Septim, who the Nords call Talos.” Trav’lar was quiet for a moment, then groaned.

“I never should have left Valenwood.” His cousin patted him on the shoulder and stood.

“Get some more sleep, you were exhausted after the fight. We can talk more once the sun is up.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Unfortunately, their plans for the day were interrupted by a soldier stopping by the Huntsman, with a message that the Jarl wanted to see them up at the palace. Trav’lar and Faendal finished off their breakfast, and followed the guard to Dragonsreach, with the brothers watching them from the door of the Huntsman.

The Jarl looked up eagerly as they came through the main doors, the Wizard, and another man were at his side. The advisor looked down his nose at the approaching elves and motioned them forward.

“Good, you’re finally here. The Jarl’s been waiting.” 

“So, what happened at the watchtower? My men have told me strange tales of you being Dragonborn. Is it true?” Travl’ar looked at the gathered men, and glanced at his older cousin, who nodded.

“I don’t know what happened Jarl. We killed the dragon, and that is when the madness started.” Trav’lar looked at the men. The Wizard was watching him in fascination, while the armored man was looking at him in awe.

“That means the summons was for you then. That was the Greybeards, masters of the Way of the Voice.” Trav’lar shook his head at the man and looked up at the Jarl.

“I really don’t know anything about dragonborns or greybeards, Jarl.” The Jarl brought a hand up to his chin and looked over the elf in front of him.

“Tales say the Greybeards summon the Dragonborn to High Hrothgar to teach them the Way of the Voice.” The armored man broke in excitedly.

“This hasn’t happened in, centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was Talos of Atmora!” The advisor waved a hand at the man.

“Hrongar, calm yourself from this Nord nonsense. If he really was Dragonborn, don’t you think it more likely he’d be a Nord, not an elf?” Hrongar glared at the Imperial.

“Nord nonsense?” The man’s voice steadily rose in his anger. “Why you puffed-up ignorant—these are our most sacred traditions, that go back to the founding of the First Empire.”

The Jarl sighed, evidently the two men were at odds with each other quite often. “Hrongar. Don’t be so hard on Avenicci.” The Jarl stood suddenly, startling everyone. “Let’s take this upstairs. Avenicci, send for some food and drink.”

“Of course, sir.” Trav’lar turned to his cousin, looking lost.

“I’m sorry for all this.” Faendal gripped his shoulder.

“It’s not your fault. This is turning out to be bigger than both of us.” They followed the Jarl up the stairs, and joined him where he stood before a table with a map on it. The Jarl looked up and caught Trav’lar’s eye. 

“Being unfamiliar with the legend of the Dragonborn, you may not understand how important being Dragonborn is. But we currently have a dragon problem. If Farengar is to be believed, then there will soon be more dragons, and the Dragonborn is the only one who can kill them permanently. Go to High Hrothgar, learn from the Greybeards, then come back and help protect Skyrim from these dragons.”

Faendal wrapped an arm around Trav’lar’s shoulders, surprising the younger mer, when he realized he’d been shaking.

“My cousin is not a warrior, Jarl Balgruuf, he is a hunter. Neither of us know what to expect with this Dragonborn responsibility.” The Jarl nodded in agreement.

“I was planning on doing this for whomever turned out to be the Dragonborn, having done such a great service by protecting my city from the dragon, and deserving our full support in return. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It’s the greatest honor that is within my power to grant.” Trav’lar almost staggered back in shock. “I assign Lydia to you as a personal Housecarl, she is one of my best fighters and can teach you much.”

The Jarl bowed slightly to Trav’lar. “We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn, and will give you any support you need.”

“But—” Trav’lar stuttered and glanced at his cousin, wide eyed in shock. “Thane?”

~ ~ ~ ~

Anoriath and Elrindir didn’t believe them when they returned to the Drunken Huntsman. Only the badge the Jarl gave Trav’lar to symbolize his status convinced them, and all four of them sat around the fire, in a state of shock.

“A bosmer as Thane of Whiterun, and Dragonborn to boot. No one will believe you when you tell them.” Elrindir leaned back in his chair, half empty mug resting on his lap.

“I’m not planning on telling anyone, it will draw too much attention. It’s bad enough that soon everyone in Whiterun will know.” Anoriath chuckled at Trav’lar.

“Not just the whole city, soon the Hold, then the neighboring Holds, then—”

“Yes, Anoriath, I know.” Trav’lar leaned forward until his elbows were resting on his knees, and looked down at the fire in despair. “I am heading to High Hrothgar tomorrow. Faendal will stay here—”

“What? No, I will not!” Faendal grabbed his cousin’s arm. “I will not let you go by yourself.”

“I will be taking Lydia.” Faendal stared at his cousin, hurt. “Do you honestly want a bunch of Nords always asking you if you know the Dragonborn? If I stay away, then—”

“Wait.” Elrindir frowned at Trav’lar. “You are going to avoid us to keep our lives from being disturbed by others. Is that what you are saying?”

Trav’lar sighed and slumped back in his chair, rolling a bottle of mead between his hands. They all sat in silence until Anoriath laughed, Trav’lar frowning at the older mer.

“No Trav’lar, we will stick together. Dragonborn or not, you are like a brother to us, and family sticks together. So.” Anoriath leaned back in his chair. “How are you going to defeat the dragons?”

~ ~ ~ ~

Trav’lar set off for High Hrothgar the next morning, meeting Faendal and Lydia at the main gate. His older cousin had argued and scowled at him for the rest of the evening, until Trav’lar had given in and agreed to have him along.

“My Thane.” Lydia bowed slightly before standing at attention. Trav’lar had told her there was no need to bow to him, but she insisted.

“Hello, Lydia. Thank you for coming with us.” Lydia nodded to the smaller elf.  
“It is my honor, Thane. I was instructed by the Jarl to tell you as much as I know about the Dragonborn legend. The Greybeards will tell you more of course, but—”

“Every little bit helps, thank you, Lydia.”

“I can also start telling you more about the Hold you are now Thane of, so you have some knowledge by the time you return. The trip to Iverstead will take several hours, even by carriage.” Trav’lar grimaced but agreed, Dragonborn was not the only duty he now had.

~ ~ ~ ~

They were constantly greeted by all the guards on patrol, all greeting him as Dragonborn, and waving as they passed by in the wagon. A few guards who knew Lydia and of her new position also greeted Trav’lar as Thane.

“It really doesn’t make sense.” Faendal frowned as he stared ahead of them at the road. “A Nord legend, of the Dragonborn rising up to defeat dragons. The last Dragonborn was a human, now can Trav’lar have “dragon blood” in him?”

Lydia might have shrugged, but it was hard to tell with the bouncing of the wagon. “Perhaps it isn’t by blood and the gods gifted him with this power.” Faendal thought that over, then suddenly jumped, turning to face them.

“Oh no.” Trav’lar looked at his cousin in concern.

“What’s wrong?” Lydia looked around but couldn’t see anything that caused Faendal’s sudden alarm.

“Tiber Septim, was the last Dragonborn, that’s what the stories say isn’t it? Trav’lar nodded. “And that man in town, the Talos worshipper, said Talos used to be Tiber Septim, and the Thalmor—”

“By the Nine, you are right.” Lydia cursed something else and took a more careful look around. She didn’t have to worry too much about the driver, he was loyal to the Jarl of Whiterun, and was also a fellow Talos worshipper. Trav’lar shuddered as he remembered seeing the Thalmor agents at Helgen. Even if historically, the bosmer and altmer were allies, that never stopped them from interrogating, torturing, or executing those they believed against them.

“They won’t stand for someone calling themselves Dragonborn, not now with the war going on, they may think I’m trying to bring back Talos worship to Skyrim.” Faendal put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you safely to the Greybeards. I’ll send a message to the brothers to be careful once we reach Iverstead.”

“And I will write to the Jarl, this affects his Thane after all.” Trav’lar’s ear’s twitched and he spun around on his knees, bow out and arrow half drawn. A large elk galloped down the hill from their right, then across the road to the river.

“Something startled it.” Faendal strung his bow while Lydia got her shield ready, if anything approached the wagon, then she was ready to handle it. The carriage driver hunched down in his seat a bit, obviously nervous now. The road curved and they had a better view as it dropped down, then rose up to the tower ahead of them.

“There is a Stormcloak encampment nearby.” Lydia pointed up the hill on their right, where some smoke was rising from beyond some rocks. “Perhaps they startled the elk.”

Trav’lar looked carefully along the rocks, and spotted a Stormcloak sentry standing watch. “Keep going, no need to get into the middle of more trouble.” Lydia sighed.

“We may run into trouble anyway. The tower ahead had to be abandoned, lack of guards. We are sure to run into someone squatting there. Garrett, did you have any trouble coming West?” The carriage driver shook his head.

“No, I had a load of heavily armed warriors, so if you can put on enough of a show, we can probably pass through again.” Faendal grimaced as the tower came into view.

“Can’t we just go around them?”

Lydia pointed to a track going up the mountain on their right. “Giant camp, and the wagon can’t go off the road.” Trav’lar sighed and sat back on the bench seat.

“Let’s get this over with.”

~ ~ ~ ~

They all sat at attention as they approached the tower, Trav’lar spotted two archers that might cause some problems, but most seemed to be short range fighters. Someone in ragged fur armor stood by the door of the tower nearest to the road, and Lydia made a show of stretching and showing off her armor and sword. Even so, the poorly dressed figure stepped forward as though to stop them.

“Keep driving,” Trav’lar murmured to the driver, and Garrett stiffened a little, but didn’t pull on the reins. The man, who had to be a highwayman, reached out as if to grab onto the horse’s bridle and the horse snorted in protest. Trav’lar lunged up in his seat, dagger drawn and aimed at the bandit.

“What.” The highwayman froze with his hand outstretched, looking at the dagger that was pointing his way, and let them drive passed, Trav’lar keeping an eye on the man the whole time. The bandit didn’t call out to the others, and everyone in the wagon relaxed once they were out of sight down the hill. Now that they were safely away from the bandits, Trav’lar pulled out a map to look at the route they would be taking.

“You said we would be stopping in Riften, before moving on to Iverstead?” Garrett turned to look back for a second before facing forward again.

“Yes, that is the only way up the mountain that the wagon can go.” Trav’lar was quiet as he looked over his map and looked over the notes he’d made over the years.

“I think we should take a short cut and head up to Iverstead, cutting the trip short by several hours.” Lydia leaned forward to look at the map and Trav’lar pointed out the trail he had marked.

“We would have to leave the wagon behind. Are you sure you want to do that?” Trav’lar frowned as he looked at the map. 

“I want to avoid Riften if I can, it is not my favorite place.” Lydia glanced at her Thane, taking in the frown and the tight lines on his face. 

“If you are familiar with the route, I don’t see why we shouldn’t take the trail. We would get to Iverstead before nightfall at least.”

~ ~ ~ ~

They stayed with the wagon for almost another half an hour until Trav’lar pointed to where a thin track led up the mountain. Since they had already paid the driver for the whole trip to Riften, he gladly continued on.

“This is your old hunting grounds, isn’t it?” Faendal looked around the area, stretching as he worked out muscles that had become tired or sore while in the wagon.

“10 years ago, at least.” Trav’lar looked up the mountain, then off toward where the river was on their left. “I do like it better than Whiterun Hold, less snow to deal with.”

Lydia looked up the mountain, unsure. “How long will we be climbing, Thane?”

“Pretty much the whole way to Iverstead, why?” He looked over at her, then grimaced. “Oh, your armor. You sure you can make it?”

“I will make it, Thane.” Lydia sighed. “Where ever you go, I go.”

Faendal chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit Lydia. Got to keep him out of trouble after all.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“Why did I think we would stay out of trouble, why?” Faendal grimaced as his cousin healed the gashes on his arm. “You seem to have forgotten about the troll.”

“There wasn’t one the last time I came through here.” Lydia stood from where she had been crouched by the bodies of the dead guardsmen, a piece of paper in hand.

“According to this, the troll moved in recently. These guardsmen were sent to dispatch it, thinking they were dealing with wolves.” Out of the three of them, Lydia had fared the best, and seemed energized from the fight with the troll.

“Well, I hope we don’t encounter any more trolls, the only one of us with any magic left, is your Housecarl.”

“Don’t worry, Iverstead is just at the top of this hill.” Faendal pulled away and frowned at the troll’s body, then sighed and started collecting what undamaged arrows he could find. It was hard to hit the beast and not hit one of their own, the way it had scattered them.

Once they started walking again, they soon reached the outskirts of Iverstead, a village about the same size as Riverwood. Trav’lar noticed the way one young Nord woman stared at them when they walked past, almost longing, which made the hunter uncomfortable.

“Excuse me, Guardsman.” The Rift guard stopped and turned to Lydia.

“How can I help, kinsman?” Lydia pulled out the letter she had found.

“We killed a troll not too far from here, along the river. There were two dead guards there.” The Guardsman took the letter, then sighed.

“Thank you. I’ll send word to the Jarl, and get someone to collect the bodies.” The guard left and joined up with another guard, showing the letter in hand. Faendal sighed in relief when they reached the Inn and shrugged when Trav’lar looked at him.

“What? There was a slim chance that something else might attack us before we got to the Inn.”

As the barmaid served them their drinks, Trav’lar asked her. “How is the trail up to High Hrothgar?”

“Difficult, if you are not used to it. There is quite a bit of snow and wind about halfway up, not to mention the wolves. Klimmek knows the trail best, he goes up there about once a week to deliver supplies to the Greybeards.”

“Unfortunately, you missed him by a few hours.” A redheaded Nord turned to them from where he sat by the fire. “He should be back before dark though, if you want to ask him then.”

“Thank you, friend.” The man nodded and went back to his own drink. Trav’lar turned to Lydia and his cousin. “We should head up the mountain in the morning, sounds like it will be a long walk.”

“With the name, 7,000 steps, I’m sure it is.” They ordered a stew for a late lunch and reserved one of the rooms for the night, spending the rest of the day resupplying and repairing their equipment.

“I’m telling you, I saw it! The ghost! It was over by the barrow.”

“I told you not to go over there.” Trav’lar looked up from the arrow shaft he’d been inspecting, and spotted the Innkeeper looking down at the barmaid.

“I’m sorry, I was curious.” Trav’lar shuddered. Another barrow, and close by from the sound of things. He hoped to never step into another one again. The hunter turned his attention back to his arrows. Elrindir’s stock was holding up much better than his older iron headed set.

“I hope you aren’t planning on going into the barrow.” Faendal’s accusation surprised him and he quickly scoffed at his cousin.

“The only way I would enter anther barrow willingly, is if it was the only place to hide from a dragon.”

“You can’t hide from them anymore, my Thane.” Trav’lar sighed and put down the arrow, frowning as he turned to Lydia.

“I was only using it as an example Lydia.” He lay on his side on the bed, facing away from the other two. “I’m going to sleep, goodnight.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Fortunately for them, Klimmek was an early riser, so they were able to meet with him, and discuss the trail up High Hrothgar.

“A troll. Another damn troll.” Faendal cursed and ran a hand through his mussed hair, stressfully tugging at the tail he kept it in.

“It didn’t bother me much. I just threw a fireball at it’s head and ran passed.” Klimmek shrugged. “Other than that, the mountain was as quiet as usual.”

Lydia thanked Klimmek by buying him another ale as they finished their breakfast. It was easy enough after that to grab up their things and start up the mountain. They came across a few climbers and hunters along the way, but Klimmek was right, the mountain was quiet. Too quiet. They stopped at the fifth shrine for a break, the thinning mountain air affecting them all.

“Wow, would you look at that.” Trav’lar looked out over Skyrim in awe, amazed at home much he could see from this height, even with some cloud cover.

“Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?” Trav’lar nodded at Lydia’s words. His hunting had taken him up many mountains before, but none had a view like this.

“Very different from the forests of home.” Faendal clapped a hand on Trav’lar’s shoulder. “Now you see why I stayed in Skyrim.”

Too soon the clouds moved in, and they were back up the mountain. Not much longer after that, they came to the overhang with the troll Klimmek must have been talking about.

“Well, I see bones, I smell troll, but where is it?” Faendal was looking around, bow ready, arrow half nocked, but the trail was quiet.

“Perhaps its off chasing a goat, let’s go before it returns.” Trav’lar didn’t like how quiet it was. There should be birds calling, small animals running through the snow and brush. It made the hair on his neck stand on end. The clouds surrounded them, limiting their vision to about 10 feet in front of them for Lydia, and barely further for the two bosmer. So, it was a surprise to find a building suddenly at the top of the steps they had been climbing.

Once inside out of the cold and snow, Faendal dropped his things and stood by a firepot, warming himself. Lydia and Trav’lar quickly joined him, both bosmer shivering more than their Nord companion, though none of them had expected the level of cold they encountered.

“Who is there? Why have you come?” Trav’lar looked up, searching for the origin of the echoing voice, while Lydia barely stopped herself from drawing her sword, but they saw no one. Trav’lar stepped away from the fire into the empty room.

“I was told to come here and have the Greybeards teach me.”

“Teach you what?” Lydia stepped up next to her Thane.

“About being Dragonborn. You called him, did you not?”

“Dragonborn?” A grey robed man stepped out of the shadows. “An elf? But…thank you for coming, Dragonborn, we have much to teach you. If you are who you say you are.”

Faendal moved up on Trav’lar’s left side. “Why would he want to lie about being Dragonborn? Especially since we had to climb this mountain to reach you.”

“Well then, if you are Dragonborn, prove it. Let us taste of your voice.” The Greybeard folded his arms, looking at them expectantly. Trav’lar was confused.

“What?”

“A shout, to prove you truly have the gift.”

“How do I do that? It just burst out of me last time.” The Greybeard sighed.

“Think back to when you Shouted, remember the feeling of it, how it formed, where it rests inside of you.” Trav’lar glanced at his cousin, who just shrugged.

‘Why, Kynareth?’ Trav’lar closed his eyes and tried to think back. He remembered how the power seemed to burn, no, press against the inside of his chest, as if it was trying to force its way out of him.

“Fus.” He just whispered it, and he could feel it rumble in his chest. Opening his eyes, he noticed his cousin had stepped back a few paces. Lydia was still close, but now stood behind him.

“Go ahead my Thane.” Trav’lar sighed, then took a deep breath, remembering the feeling.

“FUS!” The Greybeard staggered back, and a few jugs started rolling around.

“Dragonborn, it is you.” The Greybeard bowed to Trav’lar. “Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir, I speak for the Greybeards.”

“What do I have to do? Why are the dragons appearing now?” Arngeir looked surprised for a moment.

“Ah, you do not know the legends of the Dragonborn, do you?” Trav’lar shook his head, though Lydia had tried, they’d spent most of the trip talking about the duties of being Thane. “Come, we will talk over a meal. Your companions can come as well.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am terrible at keeping to a regular schedule, here is an extra chapter for your wait.

Chapter 5

Arngeir brought them to a long room with several beds at the far end, but they sat at a table surrounded by bookshelves that were overflowing with books. The Greybeard gestured to a plate of dried fish, cheese, bread, and slightly bruised apples. They weren’t offered any drinks, so they drank from their waterskins.

“You have shown that you are Dragonborn. There have been many with the dragon blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift upon mortal kind. But you being an elf, I must admit I am perplexed. Perhaps it is more of a divine gift, than a right by blood that we had previously believed.” Arngeir slowly picked apart what was left of his bread roll. “Since all the Dragonborn before you have been human, well, it is for Akatosh to decide and for us to accept.” 

“What I don’t understand, is why now? Why couldn’t I Shout before this?”

“The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not an accident. It is surely bound up with the return of the dragons. You should focus on honing your voice, this we can help you with.” Arngeir leaned back against his chair. “As for not being able to Shout before now, dragons have the inborn ability to learn and project their Voice. Dragons are also able to absorb the power of their slain brethren, which you did and gained the power to Shout.” Arngeir stood.

“We should commence your training soon. We can house you while you train, but we don’t have the supplies to feed so many extra mouths for the length of your training. If they wish to remain with you, then they need to return to Iverstead and procure more supplies.”

“How long should we prepare for?” Lydia stared the Greybeard down, she didn’t like the idea of leaving her Thane, but she knew she would need to accompany his cousin on the trip down and back up the mountain.

“For most people, long years of training are required to learn even the simplest Shout, but from your tale, the Dragonborn learned, and mastered the Shout rather quickly. Perhaps a few weeks will suffice.” Trav’lar dug around in his pack and pulled out his money purse.

“Here, get enough for the three of us for a week, and be careful.” Lydia bowed and turned from the room.

“Come Faendal, if we hurry, we can make it back before dark.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Back down in Iverstead, Lydia quickly got the supplies, and haggled with the Innkeeper for a mountain pony to haul everything up the mountain, with the condition that it was returned in a week or so.

“Are we ready Faendal?” Faendal was standing outside, frowning up at the sky, ears twitching now and then. “Something wrong?”

“Feels like a storm is building, we may want some warmer clothes to layer on.” Lydia scoffed.

“And where would we find some? You can see the size of this village, if the Innkeeper didn’t have it, then it isn’t to be had.” Faendal grimaced, then helped load the packs onto the pony.

“Then we better hurry before we get snowed on or blown off the mountain when the weather changes.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Trav’lar watched worriedly as the storm gathered and strengthened. Faendal and Lydia weren’t back yet, and Arngeir said the storm looked like it would snow them in for the week.

“You seem troubled, young Dragonborn.” The old human stepped forward next to where Trav’lar was watching the clouds.

“Please call me Trav’lar, and of course I’m troubled. My friends aren’t back yet, and you said this will be a bad storm.”

“It is what it is, young Dragonborn—”

“Trav’lar. Or I am going to call you Greybeard Arngeir the whole time I am here.” Arngeir frowned at him, before releasing a sigh.

“Alright, Trav’lar. If your friends make it before the storm, so be it. If not—”

“If not, then I will be going out to look for them.” There was a gentle rumble, and Trav’lar turned to see that Master Borri, another Greybeard, though the youngest of the four, had overheard his comment and had chuckled. Arngeir had mentioned when he introduced them to Trav’lar, that the other’s voices were too strong, so Arngeir would speak for them. Borri whispered something to Arngeir, in the dragon tongue so the ground shook slightly, and Arngeir pulled back with a smile.

“There will be no need for that Drag—Trav’lar. Master Borri spotted your friends as he finished his meditation, they should be inside now.” Trav’lar turned with a bow to Borri, and headed back inside, eager to get out of the cold wind, and check on his friends.

“Faendal, Lydia, I am so glad you got here before the storm, Arngeir says it looks strong enough to snow us in for a week.” Faendal dropped a large pack on the floor near the fire pot, stretching out his hands to warm up.

“That sounds about right, you could feel the temperature dropping, so we hurried the pony along.” Trav’lar paused in confusion.

“Speaking of pony, my Thane, would you help me unload the rest of the supplies, and get it stabled?”

“There is a stable?” Arngeir chuckled from the center of the room.

“Ah yes there is, though it hasn’t held an occupant for many years, I doubt any of the feed remains.” Lydia nodded to the greybeard.

“We brought some with us, and a few blankets for her as well. Coming, my Thane?” Trav’lar quickly followed his housecarl, grimacing as they were buffeted by cold wind and blown snow when she opened the door.

“Any trouble?” Lydia turned with her arms full of packs and placed them in Trav’lar’s grasp.

“None my Thane, we did hear some Shouting, were you practicing already?” Trav’lar shook his head and got a better grip on the burlap bag that was trying to fall.

“No, that was the other Greybeards, besides Arngeir there are three others. Borri, Wulfgar, and…I can’t remember the other. I don’t see him that much, he is always meditating off by himself, more so than the others.”

“I see, we think that is the reason why we didn’t hear any animals, they were startled by the Shouting.” Trav’lar tilted his head as he thought, then shrugged as much as he could with his arms full.

“That sounds plausible. Are there anymore bags?” Lydia shook her head and led the pony into the small stable off to the side. It was well made, and used the sides of the building as wind buffers, the pony wouldn’t freeze during the night. Trav’lar headed back inside as Lydia threw the blankets over the pony’s back and filled a bucket with feed.

Faendal was waiting just inside, and opened the door as Trav’lar fumbled with his armload. The younger mer led the way to the room they would be staying in, a tight fit with the three of them, but it had a small fireplace they could use to heat it.

“I almost expected them to give you all sorts of grand gestures. This is a surprise.” Faendal looked around the small room as Trav’lar dropped the bags on the one bed.

“I don’t think they like me very much, or at least Arngeir doesn’t. I think they were expecting to have a human as Dragonborn, not me.”

“Did they get you started on learning the Shouts?” Trav’lar sighed and rubbed his face.

“Arngeir mostly gave me a lecture on the history of the Greybeards, why they are here, who they last taught. Who just happened to be Ulfric Stormcloak, by the way.”

“What? They taught Stormcloak how to Shout?” Trav’lar nodded and Faendal shook his head in disgust. “I’ve heard rumors, that is how he killed the High King, and this whole war started.”

“Not matter how the war started, Arngeir hasn’t started me on anything, he’s given me some books to read and meditate on. Oh, before I forget, Arngeir is the only one who will speak to you, the other’s voices are too powerful.” Faendal blinked in surprise and Trav’lar nodded.

“Will that happen to you? Your voice becoming so powerful that you can’t speak to others.” Trav’lar stared at his cousin in surprise, then turned and left the room.

“Arngeir!”

~ ~ ~ ~

For most of the week Trav’lar didn’t do anything more than read books and attempt to meditate. He found meditating easier with Borri, the man was patient and didn’t mind his company, and Trav’lar was able to relax more. 

Finally, though, it got to be too much, being stuck inside because of the storm, forced to stay still and quiet in mediation, eating mostly bread, cheese, and dried meats. Trav’lar flopped down in his chosen meditation spot, next to Borri outside on a surprisingly clear day. The man hummed questionably as Trav’lar leaned against the building instead of meditating.

“I need to get out, I’ve been stuck here for days, and haven’t learned anything. I’m going cross-eyed from all the reading, not that I’m not happy to learn, but I don’t feel like I am learning anything.” Borri nodded and stood, motioning for Trav’lar to come with him. Inside, he followed the human down the stone halls until they came across Arngeir in the Greybeards quarters.

“Borri, Trav’lar, is there something you need?” Borri bent down to whisper to Arngeir, and the older Greybeard frowned. “You find your lessons are lacking, Dragonborn.”

“It’s not that I’m not grateful, but all this book work isn’t going to help me against the dragons. Are there Shouts you can teach me?”

“You already know Fus, which means Force in the dragon tongue. It is the first word in the shout, Unrelenting Force. We will teach you the next word. Follow me.” Borri said a few words that echoed through the building, and followed Arngeir. Trav’lar was surprised when Arngeir took them to the room where they had first met, and all the other Greybeards were there, waiting.

“Master Einarth will teach you the second word of Unrelenting Force, Ro, which means balance.”

Einarth, the one Greybeard Trav’lar hadn’t remembered the name of, stepped forward and drew some symbols on the stone floor, then turned to Trav’lar.

“Ro.” Trav’lar stumbled back in surprise, then looked down at the writing on the floor. It was in the same style as the words on the wall back in Bleak Falls Barrow, and in several of the books he’d read. Surprisingly, the rumble from Einarth didn’t fade away, but kept humming within him, making Trav’lar feel like he was a giant drum that had been struck.

The word continued to be meaningless, and Einarth seemed to realize that, for he turned and sat down against the wall, watching Trav’lar as he looked at the word, then the Greybeard. Taking the hint, Trav’lar sat down as well in front of the word and tried to focus on his mediation and what he’d learned in the books.

Faendal came by and peeked in on them, getting shooed out by Arngeir, so he went outside to check on the pony, Trav’lar looking up at the noise of his cousin protesting being pushed toward the door. Not much longer after that, Lydia came in as well, and the look she gave Arngeir dared him to push her around.

Finally, it was like something clicked in his head, the humming rose to a roar and Trav’lar suddenly knew what Ro meant. His problem was he was thinking on it alone, when he should have been thinking about Fus and Ro together. His head popped up, and he wasn’t surprised to see Einarth smiling at him, as they both stood.

“Already, Dragonborn? You truly learn like a master.” Arngeir stepped to the side. “Perhaps a test would be good to see how well you understand Unrelenting Force.”

Wulfgar stepped forward and said a word Trav’lar wasn’t familiar with, and a hazy outline of a man appeared in front of him. He turned to Arngeir, who gestured to the figure.

“Test your shout out on the target.” Trav’lar turned to face the figure, felt the shout that felt like it was right at the back of his throat, and Shouted.

“FUS-RO!” The figure staggered and disappeared, and a cloud of dirt flew up from the stone floor.

“Very good, again.” Another figure was summoned, this repeated a third time, and at Trav’lar’s last shout, his throat was sore, and he was panting heavily.

“Amazing, not only do you learn quickly, but your voice is strong as well. Not many would be able to Shout so often, in such a short amount of time.” Trav’lar glared at Arngeir. He had managed to sneak in another test, when he could have had the mer pace himself. Wulfgar came forward and spoke quietly to Arngeir, who looked away, chastened. “Rest yourself, if you are up to it tomorrow, we will see how quickly you learn a whole new shout.”

Trav’lar groaned, which ended in a pathetic squeak as his voice gave out, and Arngeir smiled at him. “Don’t worry about having done any damage to your voice, practicing the Shouts will strengthen you, where you will not be as sore afterwards.”

Lydia appeared from the hallway leading to their shared room, and she quickly moved forward to her Thane’s side, giving Arngeir an ugly look. “Come Thane, let’s go out and get some fresh air.”

Trav’lar practically ran to the doors, so eager was he to get out and away from any last second meditating. Faendal looked up from where he was petting the pony, and smiled as his cousin jogged down the partially cleared stairs toward him. There was a good two feet of new snow on the ground, wet and heavy.

“Finally escaped, did you? Enjoy it while it lasts, it looks like we are going to get even more snow soon.” Trav’lar groaned and trudged his way through the high snow toward his cousin.

“I feel so enclosed.” He gave a cough to clear his throat, and stretched once he got under the stable roof. “I wish we could go hunting, but with the storm coming.”

“LOK-VAH-KOOR!” The air shook and they all jumped, the pony shying off to the side.

“What in the world was that?” Faendal looked around, then over at where Lydia was standing, sword drawn and ready.

Trav’lar stepped out and looked up at the monastery, where the Shout had come from. Nothing seemed to be going on, and no other Shout followed.

“Wait, is—” The sky above them was clearing of clouds, and Trav’lar was shocked to see blue sky appearing. Faendal raised his arm to shade his eyes as the sun came through and reflected off the fresh snow.

“What kind of Shout was that? Trav’lar?” He looked around, but couldn’t see his cousin, though the slamming of the monastery door told him where the younger mer had gone. “What do you want to bet, he’s going to ask to learn that Shout?”

“It would be useful in the case of a bad storm.” Lydia put her shield down and started back up the stairs. “Come on, there is no need to be standing out here getting blinded.”  
Faendal followed the Housecarl back inside, and one of the Greybeards pointed to the door leading to the courtyard, telling them where Trav’lar had gone.  
“Didn’t you want him out getting fresh air while he rested?” Faendal glanced at Lydia who just shook her head, moving towards the courtyard doors. “I’ll be in the room if you need any help.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have typed, I have a lot hand written, but I have to put in on the computer...and you all have seen how prompt I am. I will try and get these up as soon and as neatly as possible.

Chapter 6

_A deep rumbling filled him, echoed in the air around him. An argument, deep growls and hisses, the beating of huge wings, the ground shaking as he fell to his knees—_

“Yol.” The word wasn’t spoken loudly, but the building rumbled and shook anyway, causing a book to fall off the stack and land on Trav’lar’s feet. He jolted awake and blinked groggily at the ceiling, vision still burred from sleep. Faendal sat up, looking around in confusion, his hair a complete ruin.

“What! What was that? Earthquake? Dragon?”

“Just the Greybeards, they are relighting the braziers.” Lydia was already awake and dressed in her housecarl outfit, armor in a careful pile in the corner. 

Trav’lar groaned and draped an arm over his eyes. His eyes still hurt from reading late into the night, having found a chapter that had made sense, and now was awake just after dawn, judging from the light outside. A low snore told him his cousin had fallen back to sleep once again, and Trav’lar forced himself out of his warm bed to grab breakfast, picking up the fallen book as he did.

“There is sausage inside the smaller pack with the mead.” Trav’lar grunted and reached for the pack, pulling out enough for the three of them, and grabbing some bread and cheese to go with it. Faendal woke fully when the food was done, cheese melted over sliced sausage and bread, and the mead warmed. Trav’lar finished his breakfast sandwich just as Arngeir appeared in the doorway.

“If you are ready, Dragonborn.” Trav’lar brushed crumbs off his clothes and pulled on a coat, slipping into his shoes that had been warming by the fire. When he reached for the books, Arngeir waved him off. “Today you will be learning a completely new shout, follow me to the courtyard.”

Faendal quickly finished off his breakfast and dressed to follow, wanting to see this new shout taught. Lydia followed, and Arngeir frowned at the procession, but had resigned himself to it. The rest of the Greybeards were waiting in the courtyard, a change to only Arngeir unless Trav’lar was supposed to be meditating.

“Now, Ro goes with Fus to create a shout, so it is easier to learn. Master Borri will teach you Wuld, which means, Whirlwind. It enhances your speed and gives you a boost in whichever direction you are heading.”

“Faendal and Lydia sat in their usual spot on the steps leading down, close, but still safely out of the way. One of the Greybeards whispered, and a force slammed into the snow, making an imprint of a word. Trav’lar stood near it, memorizing the shape, now able to recognize a few symbols.

“You must hear the Word within yourself, understand its purpose, before you can project it into a Thu’um. Before, you had received the knowledge from the dragon you defeated, now it is all you.” Trav’lar whispered the word to himself, trying it out. “Focus on it, once you have it, Master Borri will teach you the meaning of the word.”

Arngeir turned to Lydia and Faendal. “This part will involve more of the Voice. The other’s voices are too powerful for normal mortals, so you may have to return inside for the rest of the lesson. It may take the rest of the day.”

Suddenly from behind Arngeir, there was a burst of light and a loud roaring noise. Faendal slapped his hands over his ears as he watched in awe as Borri spoke to his cousin, bringing the mer to his knee.

The last echoes of Master Borri’s voice hadn’t quite faded when Trav’lar stood and Shouted.

“Wuld!” In an instant he was gone, snow kicking up into the air, and Trav’lar was suddenly standing at the far side of the courtyard.

“By Kynareth.” Lydia let the words slip out, though everyone, even the Greybeards, seemed to be frozen in surprise. Master Borri smiled and clapped, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“Wuld!” Trav’lar was once again by Master Borri, who clapped him on the shoulder with a large grin. Arngeir stepped up to the mer.

“Your quick mastery of a new Thu’um is, astonishing. I’d heard the stories of the abilities of the Dragonborn, but to see it for myself…” Arngeir looked to the others who nodded. “You are now ready for your last trial, you will need to use what you learned here to complete it. Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return.”

Trav’lar stood still for a moment then looked to the other Greybeards who nodded to him, then he turned and bowed to Arngeir.

“Thank you for what you have taught me, Master Arngeir.”

“Stay true to the Way of the Voice, and you will honor me.”

Back inside Trav’lar sat on his bedroll, staring at the stack of books on the table. Faendal and Lydia watched him, but he didn’t seem like he was going to do anything.

“Should we pack, my Thane? We should leave soon if we want to reach Iverstead before nightfall.” Trav’lar blinked and looked around, returning to the books.

“Yes, I was just trying to think how many of these I should take. I don’t want to overburden the pony, but they are useful.”

“Then we bring them all and leave them with the brothers while we go off after this horn.” Faendal started to tie the books together, then stopped to turn to Lydia. “Where is Ustengrav?”

Lydia held up a scroll, unrolling it on the table to reveal a map of Skyrim. “Arngeir told me, it is somewhere Northeast of Morthal, we can get the exact location when we get there.” Trav’lar looked at the distance between the mountain and the city and groaned. “Don’t worry my Thane, we can take the carriage out of Whiterun. It will shorten our trip by several days.”

“At least we won’t have to carry the books all the way as well.” Faendal slipped the tied books into a leather bag to keep them dry. “Though Elrindir might start charging you if you leave any more of your things there.”

“Just because I forgot a pair of boots there for a few months doesn’t mean I’m moving in, they’ve left worse at your house.”

“If you need a place to live, there is a home for sale in Whiterun, my Thane. You could purchase it and reside there.” Trav’lar looked to her in dismay.

“With what money Lydia? I was a hunter before all this happened and I doubt I will just get handed the key because I am Dragonborn.”

“Dragonborn and Thane.” Faendal pointed out with a smirk.

“Not helping.”

“You could start picking up some bounties. With the two of us along, it wouldn’t be as dangerous as going at it on your own. That way you can earn money and help the Jarl at the same time, like a Thane does.” She rolled up the map and placed it in her pack. “When you are ready, my Thane.”

“You do that on purpose I know it.”

~~~~

Okay, the troll must be back. I can smell it from here.” Faendal wrinkled his nose in disgust but readied his bow. Lydia pulled her sword and Trav’lar was trying to sooth the pony, who could also smell the troll.

Unfortunately, when they rounded the corner, a hunting troll was not what they saw. The snow ahead had been melted away in a huge area, a few trees were blackened, and the troll’s corpse well burnt.

“By Kynareth.” Lydia’s eyes widened at the extent of the damage wrought. “What could have—, a dragon. It was a dragon wasn’t it.”

“Move!” Trav’lar spurred the pony forward, all of them now jogging down the steps, the exposed stone still warm. They were sitting ducks on the exposed sides of the mountain, with their only hope of shelter being Iverstead, still a distance away.

Trav’lar couldn’t hear past the noise they were making and his heart pounding in fear. The pony was a nervous wreck from the smoke and the smell of burned flesh, the whites of her eyes showing all around, and Trav’lar had to haul desperately on the halter rope to keep her from plunging over the side in a panic. They passed more of the shrines on their way down, though not a single animal could be seen. Faendal stumbled and grabbed his side where he’d developed a cramp, but they couldn’t stop.

A roar cut through the air and that was it for the pony. With a scream of fear, she rushed forward, yanking the rope from Trav’lar’s gloved grip, causing him to stumble into the snow, and bolted passed the others, running full speed down the steps.

“Thane!” Lydia grabbed Trav’lar by the arm and hauled him to his feet, not pausing for a second.

“Run, by the Nine run!” It felt like the dragon’s gaze had locked onto him, it’s gaze seeming to burn into his back, spotting him among the trees and snow. The heavy beat of wings came up behind them, and Trav’lar pushed Lydia off the side, jumping after her just as a jet of flame hit the trail behind him, and shot passed.

“A dragon!” The new voice had him looking up and spotted the hunter who they’d met on their way up the mountain, running with Faendal ahead of him.

“I can see the village! Come on!” Faendal cut the corner of the path and started sliding straight down the mountain. They all followed, and the dragon roared in frustration as it over shot them and the trees got between them. Trav’lar grit his teeth as he slid through trees and snow, bushes lashing against his arms and sides as he slid passed. Suddenly the ground below him disappeared and he almost landed on his cousin as he fell almost eight feet to the road below.

“Everyone alive?” A few groans and curses answered Trav’lar as he gingerly sat up. A shadow fell over him and he flinched back and found an Iverstead guard standing over him.

“Quickly, get inside the barrow before the dragon comes back.” The guardsman pulled him to his feet and pushed them toward the bridge. The mill was slightly scorched but the home across the river was a complete loss, the roof caving in and sending flames higher into the air. A few remaining guards followed them in with their own rescues, then took up position at the open entrances.

“Did you see anyone else up there?” Faendal shook his head as he tried to catch his breath, kneading at his side. “Good, then you—” A thundering roar cut the guard off and they all ducked down as the dragon flew over the village.

“Oh no, Narfi!” A woman tried to run outside, but the guard caught her. “No! Narfi is still out there.”

The Innkeeper caught her arm and pulled her back. “He never made it out of the house. I’m sorry.”

“Kolos los hi Dovahkiin? Qah med aan mal kiir? Zu’u fen siiv hi.” Trav’lar shuddered as the words echoed within him, though the only word he recognized was Dovahkiin, the threat was obvious. The dragon landed on top of the inn and released a burst of flame into the air.

“I don’t think it is going to leave.” The guard glared at the dragon, who was now watching the town for any movement.

“My Thane…” Trav’lar sighed.

“I know Lydia.” He turned to the guard. “How many of you will be willing to help fight the dragon?”

“Leaving one with the villagers, that gives you four guards.” The guardsmen turned to the others. “Everyone get deeper inside, below the stairs, if you have any healing skills, stay up here. We will need them.”

Another guard glanced out of their shelter. “Looks like our best chance will be to sneak in behind Klimmek’s house, then rush in after that. Use the buildings as shelter when you can.”

Sudden shouts drew their and the dragon’s attention, there was someone else in the village. The dragon slid down from the Inn and dropped between the buildings, out of their sight. There was a crackle of lightning magic and the dragon roared.

“Now! Go!” The guardsman rushed out, Lydia and Trav’lar following, Faendal hanging back with his bow.

They came around the house and Trav’lar released an arrow into the dragon’s back. The creature was snapping at two oddly dressed people, one of whom had summoned a flame atronach. Lydia ran forward and ducked under a wing, jabbing up with her sword and tearing down.

The dragon shrieked in pain, rising on its back legs and turning to face the housecarl. Its chest rumbled and Trav’lar let loose.

“FUS-RO!” The force knocked the dragon off balance and into the side of the Inn. With the guards and strangers hacking and blasting it, the dragon soon slumped to the ground. Again, the power, what he now knew to be its soul, rushed from the dragon into Trav’lar and he felt filled with warmth and the dragon’s name, Felparrnos. He kept his feet this time, the rush not as overwhelming as before.

“Deceiver! You will die, false Dragonborn!” The one living stranger shouted, then shot Trav’lar with lightning, and he went down hard, writhing from the shock and pain. Lydia let out a battle cry and bull-rushed his attacker, stunning them with a blow from her shield, then slashing them across the throat. They died choking on their own blood.

“Trav’lar!”

“Thane!” Trav’lar grunted, his teeth clenched together in pain. He felt Faendal start healing him as Lydia pulled him up to lay against her. “Your cousin has you, just breathe through the pain.”

Trav’lar’s body shook and twitched, his nerves feeling like they were on fire and covered in ants. He sucked some air in through his teeth, then groaned in relief as the pain finally started to abate.

“Come, let’s get him inside.” Someone grabbed him at his knees and another his arms. Trav’lar opened his eyes enough to see a guardsman carrying him passed the dragon and towards the Inn. Next thing he knew, he was being lowered onto a bed and the guardsman was staring down at him.

“What you did to that dragon, you must be…” Lydia stepped into the room and he fell quiet.

“Faendal is asking for more healers and potions.” The Housecarl sat down next to him and started pulling at his boots. “A burn salve will work for the rest.”

Trav’lar tried pulling his leg away but the movement made him muscles burn and cramp. “What are you doing?”

“Undressing you my Thane.” Trav’lar’s eyes widened. “I’ve dealt with lightning burns before, we need to remove your clothes to access your injuries.”

“Let Faendal do that.” By the Nine, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel, and he needed to pull Lydia’s attention away from his clothes. “Why did that person attack me?”

Lydia finished removing his boots and thankfully stopped there. “I’ll see what I can find out. Their armor is unfamiliar to me. Please rest my Thane.” She turned to the guardsman. “Protect him.”

The man straightened and nodded, taking up position at the door after Lydia walked out. Soon enough Faendal was back, followed by the redhead from the Inn. They had a few bottles in hand, reds and a pale green. 

“These should be enough, Bassianus here can heal a bit as well. How are you feeling?” Trav’lar grimaced.

“I’ll live, help me get this armor off.” Trav’lar tried to sit up and groaned as his muscles protested. His cousin and Bassianus helped him until he sat leaning against the headboard, wincing as he bent his knees. Together they quickly had Trav’lar in just his underclothes without too much jostling, and the younger mer had to grimace at the raw red trail leading down his body with smaller veins branching out like a tree. The worst was on his right arm where the magic had hit, going down his right side to his foot.

“That housecarl of yours is quite impressive, nearly took that dunmer’s head off with her sword.”

“Dunmer?” Faendal nodded while the other man moved closer to heal the damage on his arm. Fortunately, most of it faded away, Trav’lar taking a healing potion for the residual ache. After bandaging up the rest, Trav’lar grabbed up his tunic, wanting to get some clothes back on before Lydia returned, and slipped his pants on just as Lydia appeared in the open doorway.

“Do you know anyone by the name of Miraak?”

~ ~ ~ ~

‘Board the vessel Northern Maiden, docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Trav’lar before he reaches Solstheim.  
Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.’

“Why would someone in Solstheim want me dead? I’ve never been there before. And how do they know I’m Dragonborn? It’s only been two weeks!!” Trav’lar crumpled the note but Lydia took it from him and smoothed it back out.

“The Jarl will need to see this. He needs to know when someone tries murdering his Thane.”

“Great, not only do we have to watch out for wolves, bandits, and dragons, but now foreign assassins!” Faendal threw a roll of bandages at his pack and rubbed his forehead.

“Don’t forget Frostbite spiders, wisps, werewolves—” Lydia cut off as the bandages bounced off her head, the housecarl turning to glare at Trav’lar’s cousin. Bassianus sighed.

“Well, if I am no longer needed here, I am going to return home.” The Nord man stood and left the room. Trav’lar slowly laid back on the bed and threw an arm over his eyes.

“We’ll leave for Whiterun in the morning.” He dropped his arm and looked to his cousin. “What ever happened to the pony?”

Faendal snorted. “Ran back to her stall behind the Inn. Stayed there the whole time the dragon was perched on the building.”

“You’re kidding.” Faendal shook his head and Trav’lar closed his eyes. “Well, at least we didn’t lose those books.”

He heard his cousin chuckle, then let sleep take him.

~ ~ ~ ~

Lydia woke him all too early, since he’d been unable to sleep well with all the noise of the villagers breaking down the dragon corpse happening outside. Trav’lar groaned as he pulled on his armor, feeling as though he’d run all the way from High Hrothgar to Iverstead. He’d wanted to just walk without, but Lydia wouldn’t trust his safety until they were back in Whiterun.

A warm grain mash drizzled in honey with a side of sausages was their breakfast and the Innkeeper insisted they keep the pony with them free of charge, as thanks for killing the dragon.

“You have our thanks Dragonborn. You saved us.”

They took the same trail out of Iverstead as they took in, and with the pony to carry most of their gear, it made up for the time lost from the frequent stops to let Trav’lar rest.

“We should reach Whiterun before dark, as long as another dragon doesn’t delay us.” Faendal squinted at Lydia.

“Saying that just asks for trouble.” He turned to his cousin who looked ready to leave already, though they had just stopped. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine Faendal. Just slightly sore, like I ran and slid down a mountain away from a dragon yesterday. We don’t need to keep stopping.”

“If you are sure my Thane?” Trav’lar nodded and took a drink from the waterskin.

“I am, now let’s go before we spend too much time out in the open.”

It was mid-afternoon when they reached Valtheim Tower and spotted the bandit’s body lying on the road, and a Whiterun banner hanging by the doorway. A guard came out as they got closer.

“Keep back, official guard— Lydia! I mean, Housecarl!” The guard was flustered for a moment as he looked between Faendal and Trav’lar, and the younger mer sighed.

“Right, the medallion.” He went to the pony and dug around in the packs until he pulled out a shield just bigger than his fist with Whiterun’s symbol on it. He attached it to his belt and the guardsman bowed.

“Greetings Thane, I hope all is well.”

“As well as can be, thankyou guardsman.” 

“Do you wish to take a wagon back to the city?” Trav’lar looked at the two wagons that were by the road, then at the number of guards and bandits.

“Will you be taking the bodies somewhere or burning them here?”

“Burning them here of course Thane.” Trav’lar tilted his head in thought.

“Thank you for the offer, but we will walk the rest of the way.” The guard bowed again as they walked passed, once they were out of earshot Faendal chuckled.

“That is going to take some getting used to.” Trav’lar sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

The sun was setting when they finally reached Whiterun. Trav’lar and Faendal stopped by the Drunken Huntsman to rest for the night as Lydia reported to the Jarl about the strange assassins and the one called Miraak.

Trav’lar hissed as he tried to loosen his armor to remove it, the burns from the lightning still sore, and preventing him from moving as easily. Elrindir helped him pull the rest of it off, grimacing in sympathy over the burns.

“Those are going to scar. Lift your arm slowly.” The younger mer did, flinching and grimacing when his arm was straight out, the tight skin of the burns pulling around the shoulder. “And back, like you are pulling a bowstring.”

Trav’lar grunted as he pulled back and dropped the arm, the movement had been surprisingly painful, he’d felt the ache go deep into the muscle, not just across the skin.

“Good, keep making that motion every day until you are fully stretched and loosened. It will keep the scar tissue from tightening up, as will rubbing in some liniment or weak healing creams.” Trav’lar grimaced as Elrindir raised his arm again, but slowly brought it back towards Trav’lar’s shoulder, stopping when the younger mer flinched. They did this for several minutes while Faendal spoke quietly to Anoriath about the last two weeks, both casting concerned looks at the younger mer at every flinch and hiss.

Soon their meal was eaten and they all went to bed, Faendal dropping his bedroll next to Trav’lar’s corner, the younger mer having fallen asleep earlier after having lotion applied to his arm. They were getting a much-needed break from the road and allowing the younger mer to rest at least one day before heading out once more. They were to meet Lydia by the gates at dawn of the second day, then take the carriage to Morthal.

“Be careful in Morthal, we’ve been hearing strange tales about Morthal’s marshes.” Elrindir said to Faendal, handing him a bundle of steel tipped arrows.

“Yes, the hunters say most of the animals are hard to hunt there, skittish and too spooked to stay still. They also said it sometimes felt like they were being watched out there.” Anoriath fiddled with his mug. “Make sure you both have your daggers with you.”

“We may not be in the marsh long, having to go into another ancient Nord crypt, but we will keep our blades close.” Faendal clasped the brothers each on the arm, before they all separated for bed.

~ ~ ~ ~

One long carriage ride later, they finally arrived in Morthal, the town slowly emerging from the fog and smoke. Trav’lar wrinkled his nose as the smell of burned wood and thatch reached them, reminding him of Helgen, but on a smaller scale.

Lydia walked ahead of the cousins, gesturing them to follow her. “Come, we should speak to Jarl Idgrod before we head out.”

They headed towards the Jarl’s longhouse, decorated with the Hold colors and banners, but had to wait as there was a crowd gathered out front, complaining about a wizard living in the town. Edging around the crowd, Lydia got them to the doors where she spoke with the guards, who let them slip inside.

“What is your business here?” The man that confronted them scowled at the guards by the door then at them. “The Jarl knows about your concerns, go home.”

Lydia dipped her head slightly. “We are not of Morthal, we wished in inform your Jarl of our intentions to explore Ustengrav.”

“And why should the Jarl allow you—"

“Let them through Aslfur.” The man sighed but stepped to the side to allow them further into the hall, gesturing toward the slightly raised dais and chair at the other side of the fire pit.

“Jarl Idgrod wishes to speak with you.” The man sounded resigned, as though this happened more often than he would like. The group walked forward, again led by Lydia, who bowed once they stood in front of the Jarl.

“Jarl Idgrod, I am Lydia of Whiterun, Housecarl to Trav’lar, Thane of Whiterun, and his cousin Faendal of Riverwood.” Jarl Idgrod peered at Trav’lar from where she slouched in her chair.

“And Dragonborn as well, am I right?” Lydia was surprised and worried, as were they all, they had hoped word of the Dragonborn hadn’t spread too much. “No need to worry, I have seen the coming of the Dragonborn for several weeks now, you are searching for Jergen Windcaller’s tomb correct?”

“Yes, Jarl Idgrod.” Trav’lar answered the woman. “The Greybeards set a task for me.”

Jarl Idgrod laughed. “A task, to prove you worthy of being called Dragonborn? Too lazy themselves to retrieve it more like, so they make you their errand boy.”

Trav’lar clenched his teeth as the Jarl laughed again. Her words echoing his own thoughts since he’d been asked, and he wondered how it contributed to his learning of the dragonborn powers.

“You have my permission to search the ruins, but beware Dragonborn, strange things have been sighted in the marsh.” They bowed to her.

“Thank you Jarl Idgrod, but we are not familiar with the way.” The Jarl smiled at Lydia.

“Follow the road that passes the mill, go beyond the caves and toward the marsh, it will lead you to the ruins.” Again they bowed and left the longhouse, turning toward the familiar sound of tumbling logs and a large saw. They had just started across the bridge when Faendal kicked a loose stone with a growl of frustration.

“Errand boy, I can’t believe she said that about you, and how did she know you were Dragonborn, all that nonsense about seeing.”

“The Jarl’s bloodline is known to have…gifts.” Lydia said. “So, she most likely did see something about the Dragonborn. She has before.”

Faendal ran a hand across his face. “Nords are strange.”

~ ~ ~ ~

They did get momentarily lost when their path led them across a section of submerged marsh but found it again when they were attacked by necromancer raised bandits. Trav’lar almost fell into the opening of Ustengrav when a bandit rushed him, sending him stumbling down the first few steps, then ducking the bandit’s wild swing. The reanimated bandit fell to the bottom ten feet below and dissolved into ash. Faendal finishing the necromancer with an arrow in the back as they tried to flee. 

“The likelihood of that being the only necromancer would be?” Lydia shook her head and Faendal sighed. “Figures. Are you alright cousin?”

“Fine.” Trav’lar flexed his arm a bit, wincing. He’d only had time to fire one arrow before having to draw his dagger when the bandit got close with a mace, running and dodging the dead man, hoping to outlast the spell keeping the bandit moving.

“There is most likely a coven using the ruins and be wary of draugr.” Lydia picked up the bandits fallen weapons, handing a hand-axe to Faendal and a mace to Trav’lar. “Bows won’t be of much use in the narrow hallways.”

Trav’lar sighed and unstrung his bow, storing it in the bandit’s tent to keep it dry as Faendal followed suit, but smirked at his cousin. “You quit your job, yet here you are again with an axe in your hand.”

Faendal rolled his eyes and gave his cousin a small shove, taking a fortifying breath as Lydia started down the stairs to Ustengrav.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough dragon translation. "Where are you Dragonborn? Hiding like a small child? I will find you."


	7. Ustengrav

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trav'lar's adventure...trial...annoying trip through Ustengrav.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday somewhere...and some of you might be asleep like normal people while I post this so you will see it Friday anyway.

Chapter 7

Coming across a dead bandit and a draugr corpse first thing was not a good sign, especially since it was obvious the draugr’s sword hadn’t been what killed the bandit, instead the man’s skin shimmered with the remains of a spell.

Trav’lar took the lead with Lydia right behind, creeping down the stairs to the next chamber where the sounds of picks could be heard. Besides the torch at the entrance and some source of light further in, the stairway was in shadow, and Trav’lar had to make sure not to trip on any debris, and creep closer without being seen by the necromancers on the other side of the chamber.

“Sounds like the others have found something.” They ducked out of sight just in time as two necromancers headed down another tunnel.

“Damn.” Lydia gripped her blade. “Now we’ll have to face more necromancers. We should have taken them here.” Lydia stood to follow, but Trav’lar grabbed her arm.

“Wait, I hear fighting, sounds like draugr.” Lydia knelt next to her Thane.

“Then we’ll wait and see who survives the fight.” Faendal shuddered as a draugr Shouted, followed by the sound of a body hitting stone. They weren’t waiting long before Trav’lar nodded, allowing Lydia to take the lead, shield ready in front of her.

The bodies of necromancers and draugr were everywhere, a few burned from lightning and others frosted over with ice. Most of them had fallen in the doorway just ahead, and they could hear the stumbling steps of a draugr. Lydia rushed through, catching the undead in the back with her sword then knocking it to the ground with her shield, where she finished it off. Turning to the cousins, she beckoned them in.

“Hopefully this is the furthest the necromancers got. Draugr are trouble enough.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Lydia’s words proved to be right, the only thing they encountered further in were the draugr, though they all noticed how some had recently been awakened and defeated, as if someone else had gotten further in. Going through a door, they were surprised to see a wide-open underground cavern, with a waterfall and some sunlight coming in through some gaps in the ceiling above.

“Isn’t that the same stone wall we saw in Bleak Falls?” Faendal was looking down into the cavern. Trav’lar joined him, and there was another wall covered in what he now recognized to be writing in the dragon tongue.

“The Greybeards had mentioned something about word walls, and my ability to start gaining knowledge from them.” Faendal frowned.

“I don’t like how you collapsed after the first one, we’ll have to make sure—” They all spun around at the sound of a sword striking the ground. A draugr had snuck up behind Lydia while they were talking and almost got her, a quick dodge barely got her out of the way. The draugr continued forward, rushing towards the cousins. Trav’lar cast a fireball at it, then dove to the side. Blinded, the draugr ran off the edge of the overlook and fell toward the pond below, lying motionless next to the water.

~ ~ ~ ~

Several reanimated skeletons and draugr later, they stood before the word wall, Trav’lar barely restraining himself from stepping forward. He could hear the chanting again, and one word seemed to stand out and echo in his head.

“The chamber is clear, you can continue my Thane.” Trav’lar had started moving when Lydia said it was clear, his hand reaching out as if drawn towards the stone as he approached. The world blurred as his hand touched stone, and he felt his knees weaken for a moment as a roar grew in his mind.

_‘Feim.’_

As Trav’lar’s vision cleared, he found himself leaning against the wall, Faendal at his side.

“Are you alright?” Trav’lar straightened, then nodded as his legs held his weight.

“Come my Thane, rest here.” Lydia guided him to a log lying next to the pond, further away from the wall as if it could still draw him back. He sat down with relief, almost feeling light-headed, but clear-minded at the same time.

“So, was it a word-wall? Like the Greybeards said?” Trav’lar nodded again.

“Feim was the word that I could hear clearly.”

“What does it mean?” Trav’lar shook his head.

“I don’t know, I guess I have to meditate on it later, like the Greybeards said.” Faendal turned to look at the wall, giving himself a moment to study it now that his cousin wasn’t in danger of collapsing.

The wall towered above them, looking as though it was one singular piece, no seams or cracks visible. Whatever material it was made from wasn’t native to the area, the surrounding stone walls were vastly different in color and texture.

“I noticed another path above us. Since we didn’t find Windcaller’s tomb down here, I assume we go that way.” Trav’lar nodded to Lydia and turned to his cousin.

“Perhaps we could take a break here, we’ve been here for several hours at least.” Faendal and Lydia agreed, and Trav’lar moved to sit on the ground, the log at his back as he stared at the word-wall.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Who designed this? Why did they design it? Why did they put it in a tomb?” Trav’lar wanted to kick the glowing stone in front of him but refrained, he was in enough pain from the lucky shot a skeleton got to his side to add one on his foot.

“Perhaps it was designed with the dragonborn in mind, so only you could get through.” Lydia stood by another dark stone, studying it but not getting anything from the carvings.

“Well…” Trav’lar glanced at his cousin, who was staring off toward the barred gates. “When you go by the stone, the gate opens.”

“Then it closes before I can get there!” Trav’lar felt ready to pull his hair from frustration.

“What if Lydia and I wait by the gates, then run through once the gates open? There is a chain passed all the gates, perhaps that will open them all from the other side.”

“What if we get stuck between gates, or the pull chain doesn’t open them?” Contrary to her words, Lydia looked as though she was contemplating the idea.

“Do we have any other plans?” No one spoke up so Trav’lar walked back to the first stone, ignoring the opening and closing gates behind him. “Then let’s get this over with.”

It took two tries, the first time Lydia walked into the last gate just as it shut, Trav’lar having gotten too far away from the stone, and Faendal was stuck between the first and second gates until Trav’lar could walk back and open them up for him to get through. Lydia pulled the chain, smiling as all the gates rose slowly, Trav’lar hurried through, glad to be passed the stupid puzzle.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Faendal was further down the passage and Lydia and Trav’lar quickly moved to his side.

“By the Eight.” Trav’lar silently echoed Lydia, the floor before them was completely covered with pressure plates, ones that, if they were traps, would shoot flames out, judging by the scorched skeever corpses.

“Wait.” Trav’lar walked to the left a bit, then back to the right. “There is a pattern, a path of lighter colored tiles.”

Before Trav’lar could stop her, Lydia had stepped forward onto the lighter tile, the stone making a grinding noise as it depressed.

“Lydia!” Trav’lar lunged forward and grabbed her arm but held still as no flame shot from the tile.

“You are correct Thane; the lighter tiles are the un-trapped path. “Trav’lar dropped his head, he couldn’t believe Lydia had just done that.

“Ok, that is the path, but I’m leading.” Trav’lar carefully stepped around her and walked forward on the tiles, clenching his teeth every time the tiles depressed and made the awful grinding noise.

“Trav’lar—”

“My Thane!” 

The other two hurried after him, making even more noise, which is why no one heard the spiders until one was jumping onto Trav’lar, knocking him down onto a mound of dirt from a collapsed wall, saving his life.

“Damn creature!” Trav’lar had his dagger out and stabbing into the mouth of the spider as it tried to bite him.

“Thane!”

“Trav’lar!”

A sword cut through the body of the spider, cutting it in half. Trav’lar grimaced as he was covered in spider guts but scrambled to his feet as he saw another spider coming.

“Behind you!” Faendal turned, bow ready, and started walking back to get a better shot. “Wait!”

Trav’lar threw himself at his cousin, just as the older mer stepped down on a dark tile. Trav’lar hit him and they both fell back onto the lighter tiles, as Lydia took care of the spider.

Faendal was shouting in pain, his legs had been burned and his pack was scorched, Trav’lar groaned as he put weight on his left knee, the heat telling hm he didn’t fully escape the trap either. Ignoring the pain, he brought his hands out, healing the burns on his cousin, and grimacing as he felt the magic leaving him so quickly on such a bad injury.

“My Thane?” Trav’lar shook his head as he felt Lydia’s hand on his shoulder.

“Faendal’s hurt worse, help me.” Lydia’s hands glowed with light and Faendal collapsed back down in relief as the pain lessened. Soon enough Lydia was switching to heal Trav’lar, who, unlike his cousin who’d gotten badly burned legs, only had light burns from his left knee to the top of his boot.

“Must we go through the rest of this?” Faendal asked from where he lay on the tiles, exhausted.

“You can go back, I’ll send Lydia with—”

“What?”

“Absolutely not cousin!” Trav’lar just blinked at the sudden yelling. Faendal had shot up, and Lydia had grabbed his shoulder.

“Look what just happened to me. Knowing your luck, there will be an even larger spider further on, just waiting for you.” Lydia nodded and gripped Trav’lar’s shoulder firmly, as if to keep him from running off without them.

“We won’t leave you here alone, my Thane.”

“Well, we could all leave and try it again at a later date.”

“And if the traps reset?” Trav’lar grit his teeth.

“Stupid puzzle doors.” He hauled himself to his feet. “Well, we’ve been down here for hours, we must be close to the tomb.”

“Oh, I hope so.” Faendal sighed and accepted Lydia’s and Trav’lar’s help to get to his feet. Following the lighter tiles, they soon came to a large empty room, empty except for the remains of some unfortunate being who had become spider dinner, and several large egg sacks.

Almost as one, Trav’lar and Faendal looked up toward the ceiling, where they could just see the tips of spider legs sticking out of a tunnel above them.

“I am not going to speak until we are out of this tomb, this is ridiculous.” Faendal’s shoulders dropped, and Trav’lar nudged him with an elbow.

“Just the family curse, let’s do what worked last time.” He turned to Lydia. “If all three of us sent fire at it…” Lydia nodded.

It was decided Lydia would draw the spider out, before backing up to the others, and they would all unleash fire at the spider until it was dead, or their magic ran out, then Lydia would finish it off. She had her sword and shield out and she took a few steps toward the raised platform, then jumped the stairs, shield up.

The spider didn’t move. She could see it was alive, its mandibles slowly moving together and its eyes moving slowly from side to side. Lydia kept standing there, then slammed the pommel of her sword against her shield. The mandibles retracted and suddenly a glob of webbing and venom was falling toward her. Lydia blocked it with her shield, hearing the cousins shouting in warning, then collapsed as the giant frostbite spider landed on her. Her shield bashed into her forehead and she smacked the ground hard when she landed on her back, making her ears ring and her vision blur.

“Lydia!” She heard the crackle of flames and the screeching of the spider, as she struggled to get her sword up and useful against the nasty creature that had her trapped. Her shield protected her head and neck, but it also kept her blind and pinned.

“Fus, Ro!” The spider screeched and slid away from Lydia, enough to allow her to bring her sword up and around, hacking through the spider’s front two legs. Screeching, it staggered as it tried to get at what hurt it, but two arrows hit it in the eyes, and it collapsed, dead.

“Lydia are you alright?” Lydia sat up dizzily and tried to stand but stopped when she put weight on her shield arm.

“I think my wrist is sprained my Thane.” The two cousins knelt in front of her, one of them carefully straightening and lifting her arm and shield, until they could slip it off. The other placed two hands on her face, turning her to face him.

“I think you took a bad blow to the head too; your eyes are uneven.” Lydia grimaced, she hated concussions. Trav’lar carefully removed her gauntlet then rummaged around in his pack.

“Here, two potions should help with your wrist and your head.” Careful not to tilt her head too fast or too far back, Lydia drank down the two potions, one tasting sweet, and the other almost bitter. Once her vison cleared, she nodded and the two mer helped her to her feet.

“Let’s get out of here, that thing is already starting to smell.” They had to burn through some webs blocking their way, and finally entered a room that looked to be their destination. When Trav’lar started down the stairs, a grinding noise filled the chamber, and the floor shook, dust falling from the ceiling, making the young mer back up to the top with the others, bow out.

“What now?” Six large curved stone pillars rose from the water on either side of the walkway, settling into position with a thump once they were fully upright, the sounds and shaking stopping. They all stood tense at the top of the stairs, but nothing more happened for several minutes, so they slowly started down into the chamber. They made it across with no problems, but Trav’lar stood staring at the raised stone coffin in confusion.

“I thought the Greybeards sent me here for a horn, not a letter.” He grabbed said letter and opened it but crumpled it in his fist and threw it. “Damn it!”

“What? What did it say?” Faendal looked at where the crumpled letter had landed in the water, slowly sinking.

“It said if I wanted the horn, I had to meet them in the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn, in Riverwood.” Faendal frowned.

“They don’t have an attic room.” Trav’lar growled and kicked a clay pot into the water.

“I know that.” He growled again and took a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “It said, Dragonborn.”

‘It’s a trap.” Faendal and Lydia glanced at each other after they spoke in unison. Trav’lar nodded.

“I know it may be a trap, but I need to bring the horn to the Greybeards, they won’t teach me anymore without proving myself worthy.” Lydia and Faendal stared at him.

“What? Are they mad?” Faendal threw his hands up in the air.

“I heard them saying that only you can stop the dragons, and they want you to prove yourself to them?” Lydia looked like she wanted to punch someone. “They are wasting time while dragons attack villages!”

“Which is why we are going to Riverwood and getting that horn.” Faendal turned and started heading back, but Trav’lar moved toward another door.

“My Thane?”

“I just saw some coins, I think the Greybeards owe us a little something.” He opened the door and stared into the room in shock. “Or a lot of something.”

The others crowded around him. There was a chest in the small room, with coins surrounding it.

“It would be wrong to steal from a tomb.” Lydia was hesitant. “But this was meant as a trial for you, and you alone, so I believe this is also due to you.”

Walking forward slowly, Trav’lar passed a hand over the coins, brushing of years of dust, dirt, webs, and dead insects. He raised a hand to the chest and lifted at the unlocked lid. The hinges cracked and squeaked with age before one broke off completely, sending the lid off to the side. Inside were several sheets of paper that were almost dust, pieces of armor with all the straps and leather eaten away, and several gems and rings.

~ ~ ~ ~

Much richer and happier with the tunnel that got them almost all the way back to the entrance, Trav’lar led them out of Ustengrav and towards Morthal, where Trav’lar was going to get them all a room at the Inn for a night at least, maybe two, and hot meals three times a day, no more trail rations. They were still healing from their injuries and had to replenish their lowered energy reserves. After, they would take the carriage back to Whiterun.

As soon as they got the key to their room; the largest one the Inn had with a double and single bed, a trunk with a lock for their things, and a table with wine and apples waiting for them, they stripped out of their armor, wiped the worst of the dust, blood, and other filth that coated them, their meals were already waiting for them at a table.

As soon as they sat down, they dug in. A steak covered in melted cheese, and a bowl of hot stew with a whole roll for each of them. Faendal skipped cutting his meat, and just stabbed it, raising it up and took a big bite from it, groaning happily as juices ran down his face.

“Oh, come on! You always lecture me about my eating habits, and here you are eating like a barbarian.” Trav’lar smiled at this cousin, who chewed rapidly and swallowed the large bite.

“I am not a barbarian, I’m using a knife.” Lydia snorted and dug into her stew. The server finally reached their table, pitcher in hand. She smiled at them seductively.

“What can I get you?” The scent of old blood hit Trav’lar hard, and he jerked his head back, away from her. The interior of the Inn wasn’t dim, with all the candles and fire put burning, yet he could clearly see her eyes glowing with a fire of their own and caught a whiff of death as she leaned closer. It was not the first time he’d come across that combination. Faendal was looking around with a frown on his face, nose wrinkling as he tried to identify the source of the smell.

“You’re a vampire.” Trav’lar hadn’t spoken loudly, his mouth dry and heart pounding with growing panic, but just enough for everyone at the table to hear. The woman, whose eyes first widened in fear, then narrowed in anger, hissed at him.

“You should not have said that.” She leapt back, a red glow surrounding her hands and Trav’lar felt a pull in his body, his energy draining. Other patrons screamed and tried to scramble away as they realized what was going on, and Lydia flew from the table, lunging for the vampire with only her eating knife. Faendal and Trav’lar stumbled back from the table, Faendal collapsing to the ground and Trav’lar kneeling next to him.

“Vampire!” The Innkeeper screamed and ran for the door, the vampire turning her attention to the fleeing woman and flung one hand in her direction. Lydia surged forward, fighting through the draining magic with a snarl on her face, and shoved her small, dull, eating knife into the vampire’s throat, ripping to the side and opening a wound from ear to ear. The vampire choked and coughed, bringing her hands up too late to stop the bleeding. Lydia took a step back, then brought her leg up and kicked the dying vampire in the chest, knocking her back into the fire pit.

The guards rushed in just then, weapons drawn and pointed at the blood splattered Lydia, looking at the body writhing in the flames, just as it collapsed into dust.

“No one move, what is going on here?” 

“Alva was a vampire!” A patron yelled. “She started attacking us, and that woman saved us.”

Lydia had dropped the little knife watching the guards carefully as they slowly lowered their weapons, the Captain turning to her. “Is this true?”

The rest of the patrons and the Innkeeper backed up the story and the Guardsman allowed Lydia to move to Trav’lar’s side. “Are you alright my Thane?”

Trav’lar nodded and looked to Faendal. “Just ill, we all need to take some potions, so we don’t turn, especially you Lydia.”

“Since you removed a vampire threat, the potions for you three with be free of charge.” Trav’lar nodded to the guardsman and relaxed a bit.

“Thankyou.” Lydia returned to their room and grabbed her sword before they left. They walked over to the Thaumaturgist's Hut, where the guard told the woman there to give them the potions, and to go to the Jarl for payment.

“Three? Were they attacked by a vampire out in the marsh?” The woman asked as she dug through her stores.

“No, Alva attacked them and others at the Inn, she was a vampire.”

“Alva? A vampire?” The woman covered her mouth in shock.

“Yes, and these three removed the threat, and they need their potions Lamia.” Lamia flushed and quickly started digging through her potions.

“Your Innkeeper may need one as well.” Lydia turned to the guard. “The vampire got her when she was running for the door.”

“Thank you, I will inform the Jarl and Miss Jonna as well.” Lamia handed over the bottles and they downed them, grimacing at the taste. Lamia turned back to her shelf and started pulling off ingredients.

“I’d best make extra, who knows how many will need them later.”

“Come my Thane, we should rest. This has been a strain on all of us.” Trav’lar wasn’t going to argue, being drained by a vampire was exhausting, and they were still healing from the tomb.

“Must we stay here? What if there are more vampires?” Faendal followed them towards the Inn. A commotion was happening over by the mill, a man was running from the guards and crossing the bridge towards them. Lydia pushed them both back and stepped forward, sword ready, but the man ran past them, until a guardsman’s arrow got him in the leg and he fell hard on the road.

“No! I’ll kill you for this! Alva! ALVA!!” The man was shouting, expecting the woman to come and help him, until the guards grabbed him and dragged him away. “No, I will kill you all. Alva!”

Quickly they went back to the Inn, finding that Jonna had laid out a new meal for all of them in the privacy of their room. They’d lost most of their appetite, but finished the meal, knowing they would need the energy it gave them, and it still tasted amazing. Lydia locked the door, and jammed a wedge under the door, making it extra secure.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be traveling abroad for a while, so the next chapter won't be up until the 26th.

Chapter 8 – Riverwood

It was a relief to reach Whiterun, having only spent the one night at the Inn, not wanting to stay in a town with a vampire problem. The whole carriage ride had been silent, everyone still tired from the restless night they’d had, and trying to figure out what to expect in Riverwood.

“Welcome back Thane.” The guards saluted them as they headed toward the Drunken Huntsman. The quiet hustle and bustle of the town a refreshing change.

Elrindir greeted them as they entered, Faendal and Lydia trudging to benches while Trav’lar ran upstairs, to the other’s confusion.

“What were you doing?” Faendal asked once he’d come back down. Trav’lar held up a bulging sack.

“Have some things I need to sell. I’ll be right back, get something to drink.” And he was out the door.

 

Trav’lar hurried over to Belethor’s shop, he wanted to sell the gems he’d been collecting and a few other items he’d been secreting away at the Drunken Huntsman for many years. He hadn’t only taken hunting jobs, sometimes he went in to clear caves, or just to check it out, and find forgotten/unguarded bandit stashes.

The dark haired breton’s eyes lit up when Trav’lar came through the door into the cluttered shop. “Well, well, if it isn’t our Thane, and Dragonborn no less. Been doing well for yourself boy, going from wolves to dragons, what’s next? The Daedra themselves?”

As the man laughed, Trav’lar pulled several gems from his bag. “I want to sell these.”

“Hmm.” Belethor picked up the amethyst, then the garnet. “Well, these are rather nice pieces, where—”

Trav’lar pulled more from the bag, until fifteen gems in total sat on the counter. Belethor looked up in surprise, and Trav’lar shrugged.

“I didn’t always hunt wolves, and not everyone pays with coin.” Belethor looked the gems over, eyes brightening.

“I can give you 400 gold for these, that sapphire is especially nice.”

“You mean the flawless one?” Belethor picked up the gem and pretended to look it over.

“Would you look at that? 425.” Trav’lar pushed the gems toward Belethor and accepted the man’s gold. He went next door to Arcadia next, there were a few things he wanted to pass along, plants he’d spotted while hunting, and she’d usually pay for good information on plant locations.

“I’m warning you Mikael, leave me alone. I’m not interested in you.” Trav’lar looked over and spotted a dark-haired woman holding tightly to a broom, glaring at a blond man who was leaning on her stall, lute at his feet.

“Oh, come now Carlotta, I know you are just playing hard to get. Why not give in to the inevitable.” Mikael leaned closer, leering at her.

“You know what, you’re right, it’s inevitable.” Carlotta stepped back then swung a fist into Mikael’s face. As the Bard staggered, she hoisted up her skirt and kicked him between the legs. All the men watching flinched in imagined pain, Trav’lar included. The mer had to laugh though when Carlotta brought her broom around and started beating him with it.

“Stay. Away. From. Me.” Each word was emphasized with a swing of the broom, the guardsman who had come down the stairs to investigate the commotion, watched and shifted from foot to foot, unsure what to do. Finally, Carlotta returned the broom to her stall, collected her money box, and walked away, evidently done for the day.

Anoriath was staring at Carlotta in surprise from his stall, mouth open in shock as she walked away and to her home. He spotted Trav’lar and waved him over.

“Trav’lar! It’s good to see you, did you see what just happened.”

“I did, that bard had it coming.”

“How is everyone else? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes, they are getting something to drink at the Huntsman, I’m just out on some errands and I’ll be back.” Anoriath frowned a bit.

“You aren’t planning on going out again so soon are you?” Trav’lar looked at him, confused.

“Well, yes actually. We have to go back to Riverwood, then back to the Greybeards.”

“Don’t camp out overnight, make sure you are inside after dark. There have been reports of people being attacked by vampires.” Trav’lar stiffened in surprise. “An orc was asking around, if anyone wanted to join the Dawnguard, a group of vampire hunters.”

Trav’lar sighed, as if he didn’t have enough to worry about with the dragons, but now assassins and vampires. “We’ll be careful Anoriath, thanks for the warning. We’ll tell you about the trip to Morthal tonight.

By the time Trav’lar made it back to the Drunken Huntsman, his bag had gold to replace what he’d sold, and was now quite heavy. Lydia was pacing around the fire and relaxed when he came in through the door. Faendal was half-asleep, leaning against a pillar.

“My Thane, you shouldn’t go out alone, Elrindir—”

“Told you about the possible vampire attacks. Anoriath told me as well.” Lydia relaxed more.

“Yes my Thane. We should wait until morning before going to Riverwood, so we won’t have to stay there overnight.”

“I have a house there.” Faendal mumbled sleepily. “A nice house, with a bed.”

Trav’lar laughed and moved to the pile they’d left their packs in. “Here Faendal, let’s get you laying down and resting.”

After some clumsy maneuvering, Faendal was wrapped up and asleep in his bedroll, Trav’lar hovering over him with worry.

“Why do you think he’s so tired Lydia?” Lydia watched as Trav’lar smoothed out a wrinkle in the blanket and sighed.

“He might have been infected.” Trav’lar whirled around to stare at her, horror filling his eyes.

“What? No, no he can’t be infected, we have more resistance—” Abruptly he stood and stalked toward the door.

“Where are you going my Thane?” Trav’lar yanked open the door.

“To get another potion.” He paused and slumped a little, looking back at her with wet eyes. “And to pray to Kynareth, Talos of I have to.”

The door closed on Lydia and Elrindir’s shocked gasps. The housecarl looking between Faendal and the door, undecided on who she would watch over.

“Let him be.” Elrindir said as he moved from behind the counter. “He won’t appreciate you being there while he is praying.”

Lydia stood still for a moment longer, before sighing and sitting back on the bench. “It feels wrong to just sit here and ignore my training.”

Elrindir smiled slightly and started getting the spit set up for the evening meal. “I’m sure that tonight when you share tales about your surprisingly short trip to Morthal, that we’ll see and hear proof of your training being put to good use. The three of you are alive after all.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Trav’lar didn’t know how long he knelt inside the Temple of Kynareth, only that his knees had long gone numb from the tile floor, and his neck was sore from having his head bowed. When he did finally raise his head, blinking against the clear light of the chamber, he could feel his cheeks crusted with tears and how stiff his body felt. One of the priests was watching him, but he ignored him as he got to his feet, muscles aching and joints complaining of stiffness, not all of it from praying, but from the whole Morthal ordeal. They all still needed to rest and recover.

Trav’lar quickly left the temple, looking sadly upon the dead Gildegreen, lit by torches against the darkness. When he heard Danica hadn’t been trying anything to help the dying Gildegreen or to replace it, Trav’lar had almost struck her. The only thing that kept him from doing so, was that she was a priestess of Kynareth, which is also why he wanted to strike her, from shirking her duties. Shaking himself from the morose thoughts, Trav’lar headed back to the Drunken Huntsman, he had a potion to deliver.

~ ~ ~ ~

Faendal was much recovered the next morning, when they set off for Riverwood. Lydia had halfheartedly argued about leaving so soon, but Trav’lar was determined to get this whole charade over with and the stupid horn to the Greybeards. Aside from the greetings from the guards, their trip was kept in silence. Riverwood was the same as always, both soldiers had vacated the village earlier to return to their respective armies. They stopped in front of the Inn, Trav’lar breathing deeply against the anger that had been slowly building as they walked. 

Because of this mystery person, they were delayed in returning to the Greybeards. Faendal and Lydia had almost been killed within the tomb, only for them to find the horn missing. Now they stood outside the Inn, and Trav’lar was ready to rip into this stranger, trap or not.

“Let’s go.” Inside, Trav’lar walked passed the fire pit and tables, up to the Innkeeper. “I want to rent the attic room.”

The blond woman’s eyebrows rose, and she looked them over. “We don’t have an attic room, but you can take the room on the right. It will be 10 gold.”

Trav’lar closed the door once all three of them were in the room and leaned against the dresser to wait. It was a tight fit with all of them in there, Faendal moved to the back of the room and sat on the bed, leaving the table and chair for the others, but neither wanted to put their guard down.

“Will whoever left the note, know we are here? In this room?” Faendal looked around the small chamber but couldn’t find any notes or messages left behind.

“Perhaps—” Lydia gripped her sword as the door started to swing open, and the Innkeeper stepped in.

“So, you are the one they call Dragonborn?” The woman looked at Trav’lar skeptically, then held out a wrapped bundle. “I believe you were looking for this?”

Trav’lar unwrapped the bundle, exposing what must be the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. It was rather ugly looking, grey with large ridges on it, belonging to no animal Trav’lar had ever seen.

“You took it?” Trav’lar looked at her and could feel the anger surge. “My cousin and housecarl almost died, and you took what we were looking for. Why?”

“Delphine?” Faendal was shocked, he only knew the woman as an Innkeeper, he was having trouble seeing her trudging through a draugr filled tomb.

Delphine sighed. “Look, I know you have questions, but we can’t talk here, follow me. Please.”

She opened the door and led the way to another room, Lydia between her and the cousins. The cook watched them walk passed, then went back to plucking a pheasant. The room looked like it belonged to Delphine, there was a large bed neatly made, a table with a log book on it, ink well and several piles of coins. Once the door to the new, larger room was shut, Delphine went to the closet, did something to the side, and a secret panel slid open with a click.

“Down here, then we’ll talk.” Lydia frowned, but led the way down the narrow stairs into a dark room that was covered in maps, scraps of paper with Dragon writing, books piled in corners, and strange weapons on the walls, with only a few candles for light. There was a cot set up and the blankets were rumpled, unlike the bed in the room upstairs. There were no windows in the stone lined room, so Trav’lar figured they were fully underground. Delphine lit a few more candles and the room brightened.

“What is all of this about?” Delphine sighed again and eyed Lydia with suspicion.

“I wanted you to come alone, you don’t know who you can trust now adays.” Trav’lar growled in annoyance and stepped up into Delphine’s space.

“This is my cousin, and Lydia is a very determined housecarl. I trust them, I don’t trust you, so you’ll just have to deal with them being here.” Delphine sighed again.

“Fine.” She gestured to the paper in the center of the table. “Remember that tablet you retrieved from Bleak Falls? On it was a map of dragon burial sites.”

“I thought Farengar’s guest sounded familiar.” Trav’lar heard Faendal mutter.

“Before you ask, yes that is important. Dragons aren’t just coming back to Skyrim, they are coming back to life, and there is a pattern to it.”

“What?”

“How?”

“I don’t know how.” Delphine waved to the map. “But that dragon that attacked the guard post outside Whiterun, came from this burial spot. I’ve been there, it’s empty and the ground is all torn up.”

Delphine smiled, and it wasn’t a nice one. “I know where the next one will happen too, we need to get there and see how these dragons are coming back.”

Trav’lar looked down at the map. There were many locations marked down, and they covered all of Skyrim. A quick count got him 22, and he felt ill.

“This sounds insane.” Faendal stepped up behind his cousin, placing a hand on his shoulder. “How do you even know all of this?”

Delphine studied him for a moment, then reached over and placed a book on the table, _The Rise and Fall of the Blades._

“I am a member of the Blades, an ancient group dedicated to help the Dragonborn kill dragons, and at the time we were most active, protect the king. The Thalmor hunted us down, and when the White Gold Concordant was signed, we were declared traitors and all members hunted down.” She looked Trav’lar in the eye. “I believe the Thalmor might have something to do with the dragons coming back.

“Why would you think that?” Delphine spread her hands.

“Ulfric Stormcloak had been captured and was going to be executed, ending the civil war. Then suddenly a dragon appears, and he escapes? Who else benefits from Skyrim weakening themselves with civil war?” Trav’lar blinked, then had agree with Delphine’s theory. It would be just like the Thalmor to keep the war going, and wait to invade again, this time winning control over Skyrim. Using a dragon to rescue Ulfric Stormcloak though, he wasn’t so sure about.

“What’s keeping us from telling the Thalmor you are here?” Faendal glared at Delphine. The woman was shocked for a second, then relaxed.

“Because that would bring their attention to your cousin, the Dragonborn, and they might want to preemptively stop another Talos.” Faendal clenched his teeth but slumped in defeat.

“Where is the next dragon going to come back? When? Because I have to bring the horn to the Greybeards.” Delphine frowned at Trav’lar in confusion.

“What? No, we don’t have time—”

“If I don’t go to the Greybeards, they won’t train me anymore. Do you want an untrained Dragonborn going up against dragons?” Delphine sighed and rubbed her face but nodded.

“I understand, though I don’t like the Greybeards much.” She turned to the map. “Here, at Kynesgrove, this is where the next dragon will be, in about one weeks’ time. I was hoping to teach you things about the blades along the way, but that will have to wait for next time.”

Trav’lar noted the location with dismay. Kynesgrove was out by Winterhold and deep in Stormcloak territory. Whiterun was still neutral in the war, and Iverstead was secluded enough to avoid most patrols, and any Thalmor that might be traveling with them.

“All the way over there?” Faendal looked at the map, at the marks between the watchtower site and the one in Kynesgrove. “Why there? Why not the next site?”

“From what Farengar was able to translate, it seems like they are coming back in the order they were buried.” Delphine crossed her arms. “Ever since you killed that dragon near Whiterun, a few other dragons have been spotted, though they are staying out of the way for the moment. You will reach Kynesgrove at the right time to see what is bringing these dragons back.”

“So, there are more dragons?” Lydia stood at attention. “How many right now?”

“According to my sources, six, but that number keeps going up. They seem to hang around mountain peaks that have monuments covered in the dragon writing.”

“Word-walls.” Faendal and Trav’lar spoke at the same time.

“Those, I guess.” Delphine moved from the table and held out a key. “I’m going to make my way to Kynesgrove, I hope to see you there.”

Trav’lar accepted the key and took that as a dismissal, heading back up the stairs.

“Should we change our plans? Head to Helgen then Iverstead, instead of stopping in Whiterun?” Faendal looked up at the sky, it wasn’t quite noon. Lydia shook her head, frowning.

“That would put us on the road for almost a full day.”

“And put us through or passed a destroyed town, that is probably still occupied by soldiers, or abandoned to bandits.” Faendal reached over and held Trav’lar’s shoulder, concerned about the tension in his cousin’s voice.

“Are you alright?” Trav’lar sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t want to go through Helgen.” Faendal squeezed his shoulder then let go.

“Then let’s get something to eat and we’ll head back to Whiterun. I wonder if I have anything left in the house.” They didn’t know how to close the secret panel, so Trav’lar just shut the closet and made sure to close the door to the room afterwards. Faendal waved to villagers he knew as they made their way to his house.

“Faendal? What are you doing back?” They turned to see Sven standing by the blacksmith’s, arms full of wood, and Faendal frowned in confusion.

“I do live here Sven.”

“Yeah, but Camilla said you had gone off to fight a dragon, we thought you were dead.” Sven looked at Trav’lar and Lydia. “Who are they?”

“Camilla said what?” Faendal pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of all the, no Sven, I didn’t go off to fight a dragon. I left to spend some time with my cousin in Whiterun. Now if you’ll excuse us.”

Faendal turned away and headed towards his house, cutting between the general store and Sven’s home, leaving the Nord staring at them in surprise. Once at the door Faendal traced some gouges that hadn’t been there when he’d left, frowning.

“Did they try to—”

“Halt, what is your business here?” A guard wearing Whiterun yellow approached them, hand on his sword.

“I’ve been gone for a while and have just returned. What happened to my door?” Faendal gestured to the damage.

“Can you prove you live here?” Faendal sighed and pulled out his key.

“My name is Faendal, this is my key, to my house. Ask Gerdur at the mill if you don’t believe me, she’ll vouch for me.” The guard waited until Faendal unlocked and opened the door to the small home, then left. Once they were all inside, Faendal quickly shut it behind them, locking it.

“I can’t believe…” Faendal looked around his home and nodded to himself, everything looked untouched, and started looking for something to eat. “I bet Camilla put Sven up to it, probably told him I had something of hers in here or some nonsense.”

“Why do you think it was Sven?” Trav’lar tossed a piece of bread that a mouse had gotten at, into the fireplace.

“The axe marks on the door. I’ve worked with him for years, and he chops wood the same way, badly.” Trav’lar laughed and his cousin smiled. “I got the door from Gerdur a few years back, the saw had lost several teeth because of this tree, then I had Alvor make me some good nails and hinges, the lock was a bit extra, made from steel.”

Trav’lar laughed again, missing the small smile his cousin and housecarl shared. He knew why his cousin got a steel lock and key for his home. It was about 50 years ago when they were staying in Riften and their things had been stolen from the Inn. The shoddy lock on the door had been iron and Faendal didn’t have any trouble picking it, with a fork.

Faendal opened his trunk and stared down into it, turning to look at his cousin, then back in the trunk. “What’s wrong Faendal?”

The older mer shook his head, removed a bag, and closed the trunk. “Nothing important. Let’s see what is edible in here.”

They made themselves a brunch of hard cheese and apples, with some smoked meat that was still good. The bread was hard and only good for soaking up a stew, so Faendal wrapped it in cloth and stored it away, along with anything else that might last a few weeks. Everything else he put in a bucket to give to Gerdur’s animals and stupid dog that would eat anything. There was a small patch of thatch missing from the roof in one corner, so Faendal put a bucket down to catch any rain that might fall and keep it from getting all over the floor.

He packed some things away, dishes and forks, cooking pots and pans, to keep them from gathering dust and becoming homes for mice, and some he put in his pack. Trav’lar felt bad, his cousin was leaving his home of almost 40 years, the only home he’d had since he’d come to Skyrim, to follow him all around the country.

Faendal closed the door and locked it, with no small amount of satisfaction, and placed the key in a pocket. “Alright then, let’s get moving.”

“Faendal? Oh, Faendal it really is you.” Camilla appeared from between the buildings and headed towards them.

“By the Eight.” Faendal muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth. “Camilla.”

“Faendal, we heard you’d been killed fighting a dragon.” She tried to walk up and hug him, but he just stood there, arms crossed, staring at her. “I, well, we were so worried about you.”

“No need to worry, I had a whole detachment with me, as well as Jarl Balgruuf’s housecarl.” Faendal smiled a bit. “For a dunmer, she was really impressive with that lightning spell.”

Trav’lar had to look away and cough to cover up a laugh, Lydia somehow, was keeping a straight face. It was nice seeing the shoe was now on the other foot, and Faendal was trying to make Camilla jealous of a nonexistent relationship.

“Housecarl? A dark elf?” Camilla looked like she’d been slapped while Faendal nodded and turned to his cousin. 

“Yes, and we should be going, can’t keep her waiting.” Lydia nodded and hefted her pack, unintentionally bringing attention to her size and armor, while Trav’lar stepped off the porch and started them off. “Goodbye Camilla.”

Oh, Faendal couldn’t sound more disinterested if a bug had flown by. They left the shocked woman behind and headed out of Riverwood, Faendal with a bounce in his step. Lydia snorted a laugh as they crossed the bridge, and that got Trav’lar going, their laughter surrounding them as they headed to Whiterun.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should all know by now I am very bad at keeping to a schedule.

Chapter 9

Trav’lar ran a hand across his face in exasperation, tilting his head to look up at the morning sky. After going over the map last night, he’d decided to try to get the carriage driver to take them to Ivarstead or drop them off where the trail met the road. He was willing to pay a full fee for three to Riften, but the driver was being difficult, and there weren’t any others that were going that way for a few more days. At least he was willing to let them tie the pony to the wagon for free.

“Fine, we’ll ride to Riften!” Trav’lar’s eyes widened as he felt a rumble deep within his chest and the last word was more of a growl and the horses in the stable started snorting and stamping their feet. He felt Faendal place a hand on his back and took a breath to calm down, trying to ignore the curious eyes of those standing around the stables. “Here’s your money.”

The ride was unpleasantly quiet though the weather was perfect, no one was quite able to break the silence, the others sensing Trav’lar’s foul mood, and all conversation attempts petered out into nothing. Trav’lar didn’t care what the driver wanted, he’d been paid in full and Trav’lar was planning on abandoning the carriage once they reached the path to Ivarstead so as to not have to take hours to backtrack. To pass the time until then, he read the book Delphine had given him about the Blades, it was quite interesting, while Faendal slipped slices of apple to the bored pony.

Faendal had fallen asleep in the warm sun while Lydia watched the road, so Trav’lar woke his cousin with a gentle kick as they approached the bridge after Fort Amol, gesturing for silence and giving some hand signals. Faendal frowned and looked up the road, where they were approaching the little used path to Ivarstead, and back to his cousin, who nodded. Faendal nudged Lydia and pointed toward the path, and slowly started getting his pack in hand, loosening the pony’s lead rope. Lydia looked to Trav’lar, who already had his pack and back to the road. Confused, she grabbed up her pack, and followed the cousins when they jumped from the wagon.

“Hey, where are you going? Get back here knife ear!” To Trav’lar’s complete surprise, a flash of flame followed them, igniting a bush that was between them and the wagon, giving the pony a scare. The driver jumped out of his seat and rushed after them, dagger in one hand, magic in the other, and Lydia moved to meet the threat.

“How dare you attack the Thane—”

“That knife ear will never be my Thane, only a true Nord should have such a place of honor.” He tried dodging around her to get to Trav’lar, but she stepped with him, and shoved him back with her shield.

“Get back.” He rushed her again, jabbing ineffectively around the shield with his dagger, then suddenly dove to the side and shot flames at the cousins. Faendal shoved them both back and out of the way of the poorly aimed attack, and Lydia brought her shield down hard on the driver’s head, knocking him out.

“What in oblivion was that all about?” Faendal stared at the downed driver, then looked to Lydia. She shrugged and started searching the man, pulling a folded paper out from his belt pouch.

_‘When the elves leave the city, take them as far as Darkwater Crossing then kill them and any witnesses, there will be a group of men camped outside the mine to help. Say nothing of this. Blame the mages at Fort Amol if you have too.  
~Skyrim for the Nords!’_

“That is just up the road, too close.” Faendal glared at the unconscious carriage driver, and secret Nord fanatic. Trav’lar looked around but the crossing was blocked by trees along the road, then gestured to Lydia.

“Help me get him in the wagon.” Together they lifted the unconscious man and placed him in the back of the wagon. “Let’s get out of here before his friends notice.”

“You should have left him on the ground.” Faendal grumbled, and Trav’lar placed a consolatory hand on the older mer’s shoulder.

“No need to give anyone a reason to chase after us.”

“I will send a letter to the Jarl when we reach Ivarstead, my Thane. He should know of the attack on you, and the threat from these people to you and every elf—mer in the city.” Trav’lar’s ear flicked in annoyance at the word elf, but he was grateful when she changed it. It was hard for all of them to work against lifelong habits and prejudices.

“All mer? What do you mean?” Faendal looked between Lydia and Trav’lar, but his cousin didn’t know what she was talking about either.

“The note said elves, they didn’t specify you two, or even the Thane. The Jarl needs to know that all, mer in his city are at risk so he can warn them and take steps to prevent something like this happening again.” The cousins turned to each other in worry.

“The brothers.” Trav’lar turned to Lydia.

“I would like to include a letter to Elrindir and Anoriath, in case the Jarl is too busy.” Lydia sighed softly.

“You can trust the Jarl, my Thane.” Trav’lar just shouldered his pack and started up the trail, while Faendal calmed the pony and brought her around. They still had a few hours until dark and he started them at a good clip, wanting to get as far away from the road as possible before the man woke with an attitude to match his sore head and rallied his friends.

~~~~

The buildings that had been damaged in the dragon attack were either completely repaired, or close to being finished, except the one home across the river whose occupant had died in the attack. Repairs had the gleam of fresh sawn wood in the late afternoon sun, and fresh patches of thatch showed on the roofs of many homes. The mill was churning along at a steady pace, and folks were loading up sawn logs into wagons for transport.

“You want to climb the mountain now? Faendal stared at his cousin in dismay. They had only just finished giving the letters to the courier and returning the pony to the Innkeeper, who returned her to her completely undamaged shed, barely giving them a chance to rest their feet, and his cousin wanted to continue.

“We won’t have to worry about vampires up there, and the sooner we finish with the Greybeards, the sooner we can get to Kynesgrove.”

“Then back to Whiterun?” Lydia asked gently, and Trav’lar turned away. “It’s alright, I know you worry about the brothers, but the Jarl is a good man, and you are his Thane. That gives anyone you know extra protection.”

Trav’lar sighed roughly and rubbed his face. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and he knew the constant traveling was starting to wear on him and the others, but he really wanted to get this over with.

“Once we get back to Whiterun, we can take a break. No adventuring for a while, no matter what Delphine or the Greybeards have to say, unless of course it is the literal end of the world.” Faendal shuddered.

“Don’t tempt the Aedra, or the Daedra for that matter.” Faendal leaned back on the bench outside the Inn and winced. “Though, could we get perhaps an hour to rest?”

~~~~

The first moon had just finished rising when they reached High Hrothgar, the sun still providing enough light to travel by, bathing the stone walls of the Greybeard’s monastery in golden light. Opening the huge wooden door let the scent of a rich stew reach them, and they sighed in relief. It had started snowing when they were halfway up, slowing their progress and weighing down their clothes, something warm to eat would be wonderful. As would unloading the extra supplies they’d brought for the Greybeards.

“Ah, I see you have returned.” Arngeir had been kneeling by a fire pot in the entrance hall and rose to greet them, bowing to Trav’lar. “Did you retrieve the horn?”

Trav’lar handed it over, wondering if the Greybeard always hung around the entrance hall in case of visitors, and Arngeir bowed again. “Now you are ready to be taught the final word in the Unrelenting Shout, Da. Your companions can wait in the dining hall, help yourselves to some food.”

Faendal and Lydia finished several servings of goat stew and oat bread, soaking in the warmth of the large fireplace, when the building shook, and they had to cover their ears from the rumbling Shouts they could hear. After what felt like forever, and left their ears ringing, the shaking and Shouting stopped.

“That didn’t sound like the shout they were teaching him before.” Faendal shook his head, opening and closing his jaw to try and clear his ears.

“Perhaps it was the Greybeards speaking to him, sounded like more than one voice.” Lydia relaxed her grip on her sword as she saw the Greybeards enter the dining hall, followed by Trav’lar who looked a bit windblown. “How are you, my Thane?”

Trav’lar sat down heavily in a stone seat covered by an animal fur, reaching for a bowl and bread. “Hungry.” His voice had a bit of rumble to it and he coughed, clearing his throat. “I’m done, we can leave in the morning. Do you remember those word-walls?”

“Yes, my Thane.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Trav’lar smiled around a mouthful of stew.

“Arngeir said that he and the others can sense them in their meditations, and call pass on their locations to me.” At Faendal’s fallen expression, he chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on going tearing across Skyrim for several months at least, and definitely not during the winter.”

“Well, ok. But only if you promise.” They all chuckled and enjoyed the warmth of the room, while Trav’lar appeased his hunger.

~~~~

They did eventually have to go to Riften, to hire a carriage to take them to Windhelm. Fortunately, this driver was willing to let them off early at Kynesgrove and continue on his way to the city. The road took them from the mountains of the Rift, down into Eastmarch and passed the sulfur pools, amidst which they spotted a dragon flying around what the driver said was Bonestrewn Crest. 

It hadn’t been bothering anyone, several groups had made it to the Eldergleam Sanctuary without being attacked, and they saw several people enjoying the heat of the sulfur pools, many of whom waved to them as they passed by, uncaring of their lack of dress. It steadily became cooler the further North they traveled, and the hills just beyond Kynesgrove showed a hint of snow, beyond which lay the capital of the Hold, Windhelm.

The people in the village were nervous, not lingering between buildings to chat or gawk at newcomers, most seeming to stay inside if they could. The village itself was small, with a half-built mill falling in disrepair standing to one side of the steep road through the village, along with some old stumps. The Inn was along the road on the left, easily the largest building in the village, with smaller homes scattered further up. To the left of the Inn was a small farm, and the entrance to a mine, both which were empty and quiet.

They found Delphine in the Inn, decked out in leather armor that had been well used, with a long thin blade they’d never seen before at her side.

“Good, you’re here. A dragon was spotted in the wastes a few days ago, and another flew into the mountains last night.” Delphine looked around the Inn and lowered her voice. “It may happen soon, be ready.”

There wasn’t much to do in Kynesgrove while they waited for a dragon to appear. Lydia got into an argument with the Innkeeper’s son, and when he raised his fists against her, she gave him one good hit to the nose, and down he went. The Innkeeper was obviously embarrassed but his son and didn’t look their way when Lydia sat back down at their table, though a drunk did offer to buy her a drink for quieting the noise.

Since the Inn lacked any real rooms to rent, they ended up spreading their bedrolls on the floor as they took shifts waiting for something to happen. They were in their third hour watch, Delphine keeping an eye and ear out with Faendal while the other’s slept, when a woman came running into the Inn, out of breath and clothing mussed, gasping about a dragon.

“Where is the dragon?” Delphine stood from her chair and grabbed up her pack.

“In the clearing above town, it attacked some guards and I barely made it out of there.” The woman let out a sob. “I think they are dead.”

“This is it. Can you lead us there?” The woman looked at Delphine as if the other woman was crazy and shook her head.

“No way am I going back there. If you want to die so bad, just follow the road up the hill, it will lead you right to it.”

“Come on then.” Delphine turned to Trav’lar, who had just finished tightening his armor. “We mustn’t waste time.”

“Wait, it’s only going to be the four of us? Against a dragon?” Faendal looked up the hill as they exited the Inn, squinting against the setting sun.

“If you don’t hurry, it will be just the three of us.” Delphine shouted back as she raced up the road. They could hear the rush of giant wings from where they were, so the dragon couldn’t be too far, and they didn’t want to draw attention to the village by lingering, so they quickly followed Delphine. 

Soon enough, they caught sight of it, hovering over a burial mound in the clearing. Trav’lar threw himself behind a tree, trembling. That was the very same dragon that had destroyed Helgen. The dragon let out a low rumble before Shouting something at the mound, the words reverberating in Trav’lar’s bones, and causing the ground to explode outward. Trav’lar watched in horror as the skeletal remains of a dragon crawled out of the ground, then glowed as flesh started to reform within its frame.

_“Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse! Slen tiid vo!”_

_“Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?”_

By the Eight the dragons were speaking to each other. Trav’lar could hear Delphine muttering how amazing it was, but all Trav’lar felt was the humming in his bones from his dreams, and the horror from how easily that dragon had destroyed Helgen.

_“Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir.”_ Suddenly the black dragon swooped around and landed on a stone outcropping, from which he could clearly see Trav’lar, since the hunter had an unimpeded view of him.

_“Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu’u koraav nid nol dov do hi.”_ Trav’lar only understood Dovahkiin, and his blood ran cold knowing the dragon knew who he was. “You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah. I am Alduin, first born of Akatosh. Sahloknir will rid this realm of the false Dovah.”

“The damn things can talk?” Trav’lar wished Delphine would shut up, as it was, he couldn’t take his eyes off the large black dragon as it turned to the fully restored one.

_“Sahloknir, krii daar joore.”_ With that Alduin launched himself into the sky, followed by Sahloknir. The larger dragon flew off as Sahloknir hovered in the air in the now familiar attack pose.

“Move!” Lydia’s yell finally forced Trav’lar into motion and he sprinted from the tree, across the road to below the stone outcropping that Alduin had landed on.

_“Fo!”_ A blast of cold flew above him, striking the stone protecting him, and he rushed out, bow ready, and struck Sahloknir in the wing as he flew over.

“Time to die Dragon!” Delphine had her own bow out, shooting the dragon as fast as she could release the arrows, matching Faendal shaft for shaft. Only Lydia crouched waiting, out of the way of the fighting, until the dragon chose to land, or was brought down. That was their only chance of winning, with the sky getting darker as the sun set, making it harder to see the flying dragon.

Trav’lar ran out into the openness of the mound, heart pounding with terror as he gave himself no cover, and heard the dragon turn to follow him. He darted to the side and whirled around with a deep breath to face the flying beast, limbs trembling.

_“Fus Ro Da!”_ The Shout hit Sahloknir straight in the chest and threw him back. Unable to bring his wings around in time, the dragon crashed to the ground on his back the same time Trav’lar fell to his knees, and Lydia was waiting for it. She got several good blows in, deflecting badly aimed wings with her shield, and suddenly Delphine was there, running up the dragon’s belly, sword drawn.

“For the Blades!” She thrust her blade down at an angle like a shovel, then pried up and shoved down again, blood spraying over her sword and legs. The blade slid under the dragon’s scales and evidently punctured something important, as Sahloknir started thrashing around and shrieking. He violently shook himself and got to his feet, knocking Lydia and Delphine down, and coughed, deep red blood escaping between his teeth in a flood. 

The dragon turned his burning golden gaze on Trav’lar, which the mer was waiting for. Faendal stood at his back, though the younger couldn’t get to his feet, both their bows drawn, and when Sahloknir looked their way, they released their arrows. Both power packed shafts, meant for killing elk with one shot took him in the right eye, and he choked on another roar, not noticing as Lydia and Delphine moved in to finish him off.

Trav’lar braced himself as Sahloknir’s soul rushed into him, but he wasn’t prepared for the anger and hatred that hit him, knocking him onto his back as he writhed against the burning inside him. He felt hands grab hold of him, trying to steady him, but could only see flashes from the fight, all from Sahloknir’s eyes. As the soul settled within him, the burning subsided, leaving behind a deep ache inside, and the world darker as the sun had fully set.

“So, you really are Dragonborn.” Delphine was watching him with a look of awe on her blood splattered face, but Trav’lar just weakly shook his head.

“Why is it, everyone who wants to call me Dragonborn, wants me to prove it?” They all stared down at him in shock and confusion, Delphine stepping back with wide eyes. “What?”

This time Trav’lar caught what had made them stare, his voice rumbled like it did when he shouted, but he was speaking fully in the dragon tongue. Trav’lar slapped a hand over his mouth and looked at the others with an equal amount of shock.

“My Thane?” Trav’lar turned wide eyes to Lydia, whatever she saw in his expression made her relax and approach.

“Well, that’s familiar at least.” Faendal seemed completely at ease, and Trav’lar turned his attention to his cousin. “What, didn’t you know that after you came back from training with the Greybeards, you spoke whatever language they did? Well, you mumbled to yourself at least.”

Since the others weren’t reacting negatively, Delphine relaxed and moved her hand from her sword. “I wasn’t expecting the other dragon.”

“Helgen.” Trav’lar risked that one word, and it still rumbled through him, but the others seemed to understand.

“That’s the same dragon that destroyed Helgen?” Trav’lar nodded and relaxed back against his cousin, body feeling heavy and slow.

“So, I guess that means the Thalmor aren’t behind the dragons coming back. Damn it!” Delphine glared at the dragon’s skeleton. “I was so sure they had something to do with it.”

Faendal placed a hand carefully on his cousin’s cheek, moving to his forehead as he felt for fever or chills. “How are you doing?”

Trav’lar shook his head, he didn’t know why he was so useless after this fight. Perhaps the strain of using a full shout for the first time, the terror of seeing Helgen’s destroyer again, and absorbing such hatred from Sahloknir was just too much, he would have to more cautious in the future. Lydia stood and eyed Delphine.

“If there isn’t anything more, we’ll be heading back to Whiterun.”

Delphine nodded absently, not really paying attention to them. Lydia moved to the cousins and together they got Trav’lar on his feet, though he needed Faendal’s help to remain on them. Lydia led the way through the gathering twilight, limping a bit with her shield once again slung over her back.

They informed the Innkeeper that the dragon was dead and moved back to their abandoned bedrolls, where Trav’lar instantly fell into a deep sleep. They would head to Windhelm in the morning to hire a carriage back to Whiterun.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_Two roaring voices, an argument happening over his head, arguing about him, at him, he feels so small, being blown around by the Shouting. Grasping claws from a giant hand, fire from the sky. Falling._

 

Trav’lar threw his arms out as he woke, smacking the wall on one side, and thumping the floor on the other, breathing heavily as the dream left him. Late morning light came in through the windows, and Trav’lar was surprised to see the still sleeping forms of Lydia and Faendal in their bedrolls. Elrindir moved, making the younger mer start in surprise, and pulled a steaming pot off the fire.

“There is hot cider if you need it. I’m sure the others will sleep for a bit longer still.” Trav’lar blinked dully as he looked around the room. The whole trip from Kynesgrove was a blur of pain and confusion, until someone gave him a bitter potion somewhere along the way, and everything faded away into black. He untangled himself from the bedroll, sitting and rubbing his face to try and wake up, finally feeling the humming leaving his bones. The dreams were always worse after encountering a dragon.

“You can’t keep letting us stay here Elrindir.” Elrindir laughed and handed the younger mer a plate, this one with rabbit on it.

“Come on Trav’lar, you’re practically family, Anoriath and I can “let” you stay for as long as we want.” Trav’lar sighed.

“That’s not what I meant.” He took a moment to try and organize his thoughts. “We are disrupting you and your business, the same way I disturbed Faendal and—”

A hand came to rest on his head and he tried to shake it off, not wanting to be treated like a child, but it just moved to his shoulder.

“You aren’t a disturbance, or burden. You are family, and out here so far from home, family is the most important thing.” Elrindir squeezed his shoulder. “You are exhausted, your life has been turned inside out, and you’re floundering. Don’t forget though, we will be here to support you.”

“And the people of Whiterun will too.” Lydia was sitting up in her bedroll. “You are our Thane, you may not know what that means as of yet, but you will, and you will be a great Thane.”

“That is the problem though, who really wants an elven Thane, remember the man that attacked us? Who was targeting all the elves?” Elrindir sighed.

“Don’t worry, the Jarl knows, and he’s informed the guards to be extra vigilant on their patrols, and asked us not to travel alone, with a guard if we have to. Even the Companions are on the alert. They are protecting their Thane and the people of the city, sounds to me like they want you as Thane.” Elrindir squeezed Trav’lar’s shoulder.

“Eat a little something and rest some more. That goes for the rest of you as well, you fought a dragon after all.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“I’m thinking about buying a house.” Trav’lar told them over dinner. Lydia paused mid bite, while Faendal started choking on the cider he’d just swallowed. The two brothers looked at the younger mer in surprise, Anoriath frowning in concern.

“Is this because you think you are a burden to us?” Trav’lar sighed and shook his head. Elrindir sat back as he understood.

“Finally have enough gold in your stash? I was wondering what that was for.” Trav’lar shrugged but turned to his cousin in concern, who now had Lydia pounding on his back.

“Faendal? Are you—” His cousin waved away his concern and gave a few good coughs, leaning back once he could breathe again.

“Sorry.” The older mer rasped. “I’m okay, you just surprised me. Buying a house? That is quite the purchase.”

“Well, I thought it would take several more years, but since I am Thane now, the house I was looking at is now affordable.”

“You mean Breezehome?” Lydia perked up, looking to her Thane in anticipation. Trav’lar nodded and Lydia smiled. “’Tis a good home, much better than the one by the Temple of Arkay.”

Elrindir snickered, while Anoriath glared into the fire. There was a story behind that, one Trav’lar planned to ask about later.

“How long have you been saving up?” Faendal was wiping his face now, mug set down carefully away from him.

“Not long after Riften.” Faendal nodded, then stiffened while the brothers looked interested. That was around the time he bought his home in Riverwood.

“For over 40 years? How much do you have?” Trav’lar glanced at Lydia for a moment then back to the fire.

“7000 septims.” Faendal frowned, as did the brothers.

“I thought you would have more than that.” Surprisingly, it was Lydia who voiced what they were all thinking. “Traveling around Skyrim for 40 years, hunting and finding bounties, I know the Companions do quite well, even if they don’t go out as often anymore.”

Trav’lar sighed and slumped back in his seat, trying to make himself smaller. “I did have more once, but I came across two Trolls at once while alone. I thought I was dead until a group of Nords came along and finished them off. Even then, if I didn’t get some healing soon, I wouldn’t make it. I asked them for help, and they said they would, for a price.”

“What?!” The other four shouted at the same time, Elrindir leaning forward with a peculiar look on his face.

“How long ago was this? How much did they take? Do they still live?” Anoriath joined his brother.

“Do we have to hunt them down? Chop them into little pieces?” Trav’lar held up his hands, waving away their questions.

“It was 10 years ago, at least. They were caught stealing a few days later and all their belongings confiscated. The guards didn’t believe the 5000 gold was mine and threw me out.” Lydia narrowed her eyes.

“Threw you out from where?” Trav’lar stayed quiet, but when Lydia continued to stare him down, he sighed.

“Windhelm.” The brothers grimaced in sympathy.

“We’ve been there, or to the gates at least. They wouldn’t let us in, so we had to send a letter to who we were meeting to meet us at the stable. Haven’t done business there since.”

“But in 10 years, you saved up 7000 septims? That is impressive cousin.”

“Once I started taking bounties, I saved a lot faster. Usually no one was interested in what the bandits had in their hideouts.”

“My Thane, with the barrows, did you?” Lydia was hesitant but Trav’lar shook his head.

“Oh no, I’ve never touched burial gold, who knows what kinds of curses could be on it. What if I sold a stolen heirloom to a descendant? No, I’ll stick to bandit caves.”

“When will you buy the house?” Anoriath asked, pouring everyone more cider.

“Well I was thinking, after we are done with dinner, I guess. That way we could go through the house in the morning at first light.” Lydia smiled.

“That sounds like a fine idea, my Thane.” Trav’lar turned to the brothers.

“I don’t want you to think—” Elrindir laughed and cut him off, slinging an arm around him in a half-hug.

“Not to worry, we don’t think you are abandoning us, and you won’t be too far away either when you get tired of your own cooking.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“Oh, hello Thane. How can I help you?” Trav’lar nodded back to the steward, trying to ignore how the other man looked down his nose at him. Only Lydia had accompanied him to speak to the steward, the others remaining at the Drunken Huntsman gathering ideas and plans for tomorrow. The Jarl and his family were elsewhere, only the guards and the steward occupy the main hall.

“I was interested in the home for sale.” The balding human looked him up and down, eyes tightening at the plain clothing he wore, before retrieving some scrolls and placing them on the table.

“I assume that it would be Wind Hall you are interested in? Because of your title as Thane, it is 1000 septims. Easily affordable for one such as you.”

“No, I’m interested in Breezehome.” The steward stopped shuffling the papers and looked up at him.

“Breezehome? But that one is 5000 septims.”

“And why would that be a problem Proventus?” Lydia spoke from behind Trav’lar, not impressed with the man’s attitude.

“Well, that is…I just thought…” Trav’lar pulled out the heavy sack of gold and placed it on the table in front of the man.

“I would like to purchase Breezehome.”

“Ah Thane. I’m glad you are interested in it, Breezehome is a beautiful home.” Jarl Balgruuf spoke from the door, and the three of them were quick to turn around and bow.

“Jarl Balgruuf, I was just getting the papers—”

“Well don’t take too long Proventus, we want our Thane to be settled in as soon as possible.” Proventus bowed again.

“Yes, my Jarl.” Once the older man had left, Trav’lar went through the process of purchasing a home, sighing papers, receiving the deed and key to the house. Then Proventus held out a final scroll.

“Here is a list of improvements you might want to make to the house since it has sat empty for so long, and how much it will cost. Come to me when you want to get something done.” Trav’lar accepted the scroll with a nod and allowed Lydia to fall behind him as they left Dragonsreach.

Outside, Trav’lar stopped to look over the dark city, lit only by torches and the light of the waning dual moons. The dying Gildergreen, the statue of Talos, the Companion’s home, the Temples of Arkay and Kynareth, the Drunken Huntsman, the smithy, the merchants square, all the homes, the many farms outside the walls, and felt overwhelmed.

“Lydia, help me to be Thane.” Lydia turned to him with a smile.

“It would be an honor, my Thane.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“He wants to charge how much to do a room?” Elrindir sneered down at the list of _improvements_ Trav’lar had given him and felt like tossing it into the fire. “From these prices, he’s trying to make up for the money he’s losing selling to the Thane. Septim pinching Imperial.”

“You can easily do a room for half that, less than half, since you don’t need all those trophy heads that Nords seem to like.” Anoriath ran a dark finger down the list, pausing at the options for a child’s room, or alchemy chamber. “This list is tailored to a Nord, or Imperial.”

Trav’lar looked over their shoulders, then sat back down to finish his breakfast. “That’s why I’m planning on looking through the house, see what kind of room we have available, and plan it from there. We’ll need a few rooms, for me and Lydia, and an extra for visitors.”

The brothers looked up from the list, then at each other. Anoriath started rolling up the scroll and Elrindir started putting away his wares under the counter.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to go with you.” Trav’lar shook his head, smiling at the brothers. They wanted to help him, but they also wanted to look around at Breezehome. Faendal and Lydia were already going with him, but the more he could get to help him clean up the better. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

Trav’lar laughed as Anoriath eagerly pulled him to his feet and started pushing him toward the door, practically shoving him up the road towards his newly purchased home.

The two-story building sat back from the road, closer to the wall of the city and had homes on either side, but because of the distance from the street and the backs of the homes on either side, Breezehome had a sense of privacy. The roof was still in good shape, no missing or rotting shingles or thatch. The sides of the home were weathered gray but looked thick and sturdy, and the painted designs of health and hearth were still visible.

The front garden on the other hand was overrun with grass and weeds with a few struggling flowers coming up through the stones that had fallen from the wall. Because of the home being so close to the city wall, he didn’t have a back garden, so the front would be where he would have any vegetables or flowers, or animals if he wanted, after much repair done to the wall.

“How long has it been since someone lived here?” Trav’lar asked Lydia, as he pulled out his key, looking at it and the door.

“Almost 3 years. The last Thane lived here, until he became too ill and moved into Dragonsreach to have better access to the healers. Thane Aldric passed two years ago.” Trav’lar gripped the key for a moment, then unlocked the door. Giving it a push, he was surprised at how easily the door swung open, before stopping against something behind it.

“Well, it’s not too bad actually.” Faendal was right, webs and dust everywhere, a few rodent nests piled in the corners, and some chairs stacked on a table, but no sigh of moisture. Trav’lar led the way in, seeing where the rooms had been separated, and the stairs leading up to the next floor.

Waving an arm in front of him to get rid of webs, Trav’lar climbed the stairs. The landing above was a good sized, with a room immediately to the left, and another back and on the right.

“A kitchen you definitely need, that little firepit is only good for camping, yep, here’s an old fireplace.” Anoriath was poking around down below, moving chairs away from the table which blocked a fireplace in the right wall. “Why would you need a separate dining room I don’t know.”

“It is common in Nord homes.” Lydia looked around the room, smiling sadly. “Thane Aldric had a large family when he was younger, he would have needed the extra room too.”

“What are your plans Trav’lar?” Elrindir asked, turning a chair upright and testing its sturdiness. It held him.

“Nothing fancy, a place to stay while in town, a place for Lydia downstairs, and this smaller room would make a fine guest room.” Trav’lar stepped down the stairs again, glad that they didn’t creak or groan, or shake as he climbed them. “A bookshelf up there would be nice, and place to put those books the Greybeards gave me.”

“We could take most of the furniture from my place.” Everyone turned to stare at Faendal in surprise. “What?”

“Your things?” Trav’lar asked him. “Why?”

“I was thinking of putting the place up for sale, I don’t know if I could live in the same village as Camilla, especially after someone tried to break in.” Trav’lar watched his cousin for a moment, but the older mer seemed quite sure of his decision.

“Then the guestroom can be yours.” Trav’lar said, smiling at his cousin. It would be nice to have family nearby. The brothers cheered and spun Faendal around in excitement while Lydia laughed at them. “Now let’s get this place cleaned up, I want to be able to throw my bedroll down in here tomorrow.”

Back and forth they worked, hauling the furniture outside, and all the extra crates and boxes. Elrindir grabbed some brooms and buckets from the Huntsman so they could start sweeping and knocking down webs and hauling water from the well. With sand they scoured the stones of the hearth to remove the old soot stains and used brushes to scrub the walls free of dust and dirt. Trav’lar didn’t want to use soap just yet, since they had to move everything back inside before the sun went down. Trav’lar locked the door, hand lingering on the freshly scrubbed wood, then followed the others back to the Drunken Huntsman for the night.

~ ~ ~ ~

“With the windows cleaned, the rooms actually got some good light.” Lydia stepped back and looked around the main room. They had found a few panes of glass that would need replacing, but many of them were still in good shape, few that there were. They were all surprised that there was actual glass in the windows, instead of being open or covered with thin skins.

“I’m glad they’d removed the mattress years ago. That would have been an unpleasant mess.” Faendal swept another pile of dust and webs out the door, where Trav’lar gathered it up into a pile to burn later. After a quick noon meal, they hauled the tables and chairs back inside for final placement, against the right wall almost to the back wall. Chairs were placed at the narrow ends, while a bench went along the remaining long side. The other chairs they stacked near the fireplace, ready to go when they were done with all the moving.

“There is a cellar!” Elrindir shouted from inside. He had gone to place a barrel under the stairs and spotted the square door in the floor. Several hard tugs had gotten the door open and reveled a small, shallow cellar for storing food, that was still nice and dry.

“Get away from there beggar!” Trav’lar looked out the upper window and spotted Lydia chasing off the local beggar and drunkard, Brenuin. Evidently, he’d tried to go through the boxes and barrels that were still outside.

“So two, three days to get everything moved from Riverwood.” Faendal carried a chair up the stairs, to place near where Trav’lar wanted a bookshelf.

“Most likely, the cupboards and bed will take up the most space, so they won’t fit in one trip. Though if we start early tomorrow…” Trav’lar watched as Elrindir carried in another empty barrel. “I’m just glad we were able to borrow the brothers’ wagon. I really didn’t want to ask Proventus for anything.”

Later, Faendal set to chopping wood for the fire, causing some snickering from the others, until he showed them he could chop faster and harder then all of them. That night, they stayed in Breezehome, bedrolls laid out on the stone floor in the main hall, venison steaks the brothers had brought roasting in the fire, apples and cheese on the table that Trav’lar had brought, and Lydia brought bottles of mead from the Tavern.

“You don’t have to keep bringing food, I can hunt for myself.” This got Trav’lar some good-natured teasing and Elrindir cut up his meat into bite sized pieces for him. Trav’lar retaliated by stealing the older mer’s steak, leaving the cut one for him.

The brothers finally made their way back home close to the middle of the night. Trav’lar lay in his bedroll, the slowly dying fire casting light around the room that he now owned. A mouse scurried away along the far wall and Trav’lar figured he should try to find a mouser in the next few days.

~ ~ ~ ~

The brothers had wanted to come to help, but Trav’lar told them they could help with the unloading when they got back, Lydia also staying behind to move her things into her new space. Personally, Trav’lar thought the brothers were spending too much time away from their businesses than was good for them and hoped they would spend more time with it in the future. As it was, there had been too many hangovers amongst them in the past week.

The horse pulled the wagon easily up the hill as they approached Riverwood, Trav’lar letting his cousin drive since he’d had more experience. The only time Trav’lar had driven a wagon had been over 10 years ago, and the wagon had been on fire, and he’d been fleeing from wolves. He’d eventually ended up in a river.

Gerdur waved to them from the mill as they passed through town, Hod busy watching a log get sawn in half. They managed the tight turn between the Inn and the General Store, and again between the store and Gerdur’s home, though one wheel did scrape along her fence. They had a few stairs to deal with, but now it was time for them to empty out the shelves and get rid of the things Faendal would no longer need.

“Frodnar, come over here for a moment.” The young boy stopped hassling his dog with the stick he had and slowly approached the cousins.

“It’s nice to see you again Faendal, mother was worried when she heard stories you had gone up against a dragon. Did you really? Was it as big as they say?” Faendal chuckled.

“I promise to tell you more when I have time, but right now I would like you to go and get Dorthe and ask your parents if they need any of the things I am leaving behind.” Frodnar frowned and fiddled with his stick.

“Leaving behind? Where are you going?” Faendal reached out and wrapped an arm around his cousin.

“I will be traveling with my cousin, so I will be selling my house and moving in with him in Whiterun.” Frodnar bit his lip and looked at the ground.

“But then who will teach me how to shoot a bow? I didn’t have the guts to ask before, and now you are going away.” Faendal moved from his cousin and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“How about when your parents feel you are ready to learn how to use a bow, you can send a letter to me and I will come and teach you.” Frodnar’s face lit up and he jumped in excitement.

“Oh yes, that will be great, thank you so much Faendal.” The older mer chuckled and pushed him away gently.

“Well go and find Dorthe, I want as much to be reused as possible, but the best things go first!” Frodnar took off with a whoop, his dog running behind him barking. While Frodnar was chasing down the adults, Faendal started stacking things on his porch that he wouldn’t be taking with him, most of the food they didn’t need, some knickknacks he’d collected over the years, books he didn’t want, and some old bows he didn’t need anymore.

Most of his dishes ended up on the porch as well, but he didn’t think anyone would take those, they were starting to get old, but the pots and pans he figured the women would want, as well as the herbs and plants he’d had drying.

They gotten the one cabinet cleaned out and were just getting ready to move it when Hod and Gerdur showed up, Hod immediately stepping in to help lift. With his and Gerdur’s help, though Faendal tried in vain to stop her, they got the storage shelf cleared off and moved, Faendal’s bed, two trunks and his end tables all packed away in the back of the wagon and tied down with rope. Gerdur also picked up all the candles that had been in the house and put them in a sack that she tossed in the back, saying they didn’t realize yet how much they would need them.

“Frodnar says you are moving to Whiterun?” Gerdur waved as Dorthe and her mother arrived, Alvor being unable to leave his hot forge. “I’m assuming you have a place already picked out, you better not be living on the street.”

“No, I will be living with my cousin, he just bought a house inside Whiterun itself and was willing to put up with me.” Trav’lar rolled his eyes and gently elbowed his cousin.

“Of course I had to let you stay with me, since I didn’t know until a few days ago you were planning on selling your home of 40 years.” Faendal smiled sadly as Gerdur passed him a bucket of water.

“I don’t mean to leave so suddenly, but Riverwood holds more bitter memories than good ones at the moment.”

“You mean more bitter reminders.” Gerdur glanced over toward the Inn, then smiled back at Faendal. “I don’t hold it against you, you have been a great friend to us all these years, and a hard worker. We will miss you, perhaps you could visit every now and then?”

“Or you could visit us if you are ever in Whiterun.” Trav’lar shrugged when everyone turned to him. “Though you should send a letter first, we might not be home with all my duties as Thane and, and Dragonborn.”

He lowered his voice for the last part, still not comfortable with telling people that part of himself, Thane was bad enough. Gerdur’s eyes widened and Hod coughed in surprise.

“I’d heard the stories of you going out and defeating a dragon, and we heard the Greybeards summon the Dragonborn, that was you?” Trav’lar nodded, grateful the children were out of earshot at the moment. “And you are helping him?”

Faendal straightened to his full height. “Of course, he is family. He can’t do this on his own and I won’t let him.”

“Good on you Faendal.” Hod clasped a heavy hand on the mer’s shoulder. “If there is anything you two need, we will be willing to help.”

Trav’lar gestured to the packed wagon. “You have already helped, though if you could watch this place and help Faendal sell it while he’s busy…”

“Of course we will, and we can deliver the money to you in Whiterun when it sells.”

“Oh damn.” Trav’lar grimaced when he spotted Camilla watching them from the second story of the general store, arms wrapped around herself as if cold. Faendal turned to look, then quickly turned away, fiddling with the reins wrapped around a post on the front seat.

“I guess it is time for you to go.” Gerdur stepped forward and wrapped the smaller mer in a hug. “You are always welcome to visit; my family owes you so much. You’ve worked at the mill since my father had it, and kept it going when he broke his leg. If there is anything, anything we can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you Gerdur.” With a wave the cousins climbed onto the wagon, Hod patting the horse as they started up and made their way around the last home on the lane, and back towards Riverwood, neither of them looking up at Camilla as she watched them from the balcony and once they passed under Riverwood’s outer wall, Faendal let out a shaky breath, Trav’lar sliding over until he was pressed against his cousin, giving silent support.

~ ~ ~ ~

The sun was just setting when they reached the city and it was outside of Whiterun’s main gate when they ran into trouble, of a sort.

“No Thane, we would be honored to help.” One of the gate guards had stopped them, informing them that four men had volunteered to help unload the wagon at Breezehome, nothing Trav’lar said would change their minds, so they were escorted into the city. The younger mer was at least able to unlock the door, but then had to stand back and tell them what furniture went where. The volunteers even returned the horse and wagon to the Drunken Huntsman.

“This is…I just…Why?” Lydia stepped out of her room, dressed in her casual Housecarl outfit.

“It is because those are the men you saved from the dragon. They can by and wanted to thank you.”

“They could have just said it.” Trav’lar grumbled from where he sat slumped in a chair, then he noticed the oil lamps and the brightly colored new rugs that covered the stone floor. “Wait, what’s all this?”

“I purchased some furnishings with the money Faendal gave me. He meant it as a surprise.”

“Happy name day, Trav’lar.” The younger mer started in surprise and turned to his cousin.

“What? No, it can’t be, it’s only…”

“The 18th of Sun’s Dusk.”

“It’s already been three months?” Faendal nodded and Trav’lar looked around himself in surprise. So much had happened, in so little time. Dragons, finding out he is Dragonborn, becoming Thane of Whiterun, buying a home. His parents wouldn’t believe it if they saw it for themselves.

“Come on, let’s see what Lydia bought.” Faendal grabbed his arm and started taking him around the house.

“What? There’s more? How much did you give her?” Faendal shrugged as they got into the kitchen area, were new pots and pans hung, alongside some stores and sacks that hadn’t been there that morning.

“A bit over 4000 septims. I’ve been saving up what I made at the mill, I was planning on using it if I got married, but…” At Trav’lar’s shocked face Faendal sighed. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Lydia didn’t spend all of it. Though I made sure she got a bed for herself and you.”

Upstairs there wasn’t just a bookshelf, there were two, with cushioned chairs set out against the wall. Another rug covered the floor here, one in deep red. Faendal peaked into his room for a moment, happy to see his furniture all in one piece in the room, the cupboard had ended up downstairs in the kitchen, but the bed with its new straw mattress, end table and trunks fit into the small room quite well.

“Faen—Lydia!” Faendal chuckled at the exasperation in Trav’lar’s voice. Obviously, Lydia had bought something that Trav’lar deemed unnecessary. Stepping up behind Trav’lar, he looked in, and couldn’t see what was wrong. The room had a bed with furs, blankets, and pillows piled on the end, two end tables, some trunks, a wardrobe, and desk and chair. Maybe the younger mer thought she’d over done it?

“What’s wrong cousin?” Trav’lar huffed and gestured at the bed. “It’s a bed.”

“It’s a large bed, I don’t need that much space.”

“You might in the future, my Thane.” Lydia called up from below. Trav’lar ran a hand over his face while Faendal chuckled.

“Yes cousin. When will we see a young bosmer girl hanging off your arm?” Trav’lar growled as his face flushed red, reaching out to punch his cousin in the arm, not that it stopped the older mer from laughing as he rubbed his sore arm.

Someone knocked on the door below, the two cousins turning to each other in surprise, the brothers wouldn’t have knocked, as Lydia moved to answer the door.

“Oh, hello Garth.”

“Hello Lydia, I mean Housecarl. Is the Thane home? I have a letter for him.”

“I’ll take it to him Garth.” There was a moment of hesitation as Trav’lar jogged down the stairs and the courier smiled, Lydia pushing him gently from the door, so she could close it.

“I think there is a bit of hero worship going on. Don’t worry though, he’s harmless.” Trav’lar sighed and opened the letter. Surprisingly it was from the Jarl of Falkreath.

“Who’s the letter from?” Lydia frowned at the seal she could see on it, even though it was broken, it looked familiar.

“The Jarl of Falkreath, nothing important.” Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Really its nothing, he just wants to meet with me.”

“And probably has something he wants you to do.” Faendal sat on the steps, propping his head up as he looked at them. “You aren’t thinking of heading over there are you?”

Trav’lar looked at his cousin in confusion. “Of course not, I haven’t even gotten settled in yet, and we still need a break from all the fighting.”

“There are many things you can do for Whiterun as Thane that doesn’t involve fighting. Citizens you could help.” Lydia pointed out. Trav’lar nodded and tossed the letter onto the table.

“Yeah, time to put the Dragonborn away for a while, and start learning how to be a Thane.”


	11. Thane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the last chapter this month, I have half of the next chapter ready but I have been sick and will have family over for Thanksgiving and that means lots of cooking and cleaning. Also, if you think I need to improve something, or if something doesn't seem to make sense, please post a comment. I would love to improve.

Chapter 11

Getting into the role of Thane was vastly different than anything Trav’lar had ever done. He attended meetings with the Jarl, learned about the Hold and the people in the city, and his responsibilities to them. What was hard was trying to remember everyone’s title, their position in court, and etiquette. Proventus tried to teach him but the man got easily frustrated and quickly ended the lessons, not that Trav’lar was upset, he didn’t understand how one family could have so many different titles for each family member.

Thankfully, his first task as Thane was to assist the priest of Arkay. The man had lost his amulet somewhere in the catacombs and was too afraid to go down and get it. Trav’lar was somewhat surprised to find three skeletons roaming around, but they didn’t give him any problems, a well-placed blow to the legs brought them down enough for him to break them up the rest of the way. 

That was his last chance to wear his armor, since he was in the city full time, he had to hang up his leather armor and hunting gear, and wear the clothes that befitted him as Thane, though he did have to take the expensive clothes to Carlotta to have them fitted for him, previously they were sized to fit an Imperial.

The Jarl had a few bounties out for bandits, or giants, or packs of wolves, but most of those, the giants especially, were handled by the Companions, though those jobs Trav’lar was used to doing himself. As Thane, he also met with Commander Caius, the man in charge of the guards in Whiterun, to discuss the current crime levels and safety of the city, all of which Trav’lar could relay to the Jarl for improvements.

Walking the walls of the city to find weak spots or places that could use some improvements, especially at the approach of the city. One wall needed to be shored up and raised, otherwise it was going to collapse and allow faster access to the city, which with the civil war, was something no one wanted, neutral city or not. They caught Brenuin urinating in the water above the Battleborn home. Caius fined him, but since the beggar couldn’t afford the fine, was taken to the jail for two days. His most bizarre duty was separating a young boy and girl who had gotten into a fist fight, all because the girl liked the boy. 

About two weeks into his time in Whiterun he overheard an argument between a couple, about a lost heirloom sword. When the argument ended with the wife storming off in anger, Trav’lar approached the man.

“I couldn’t help but overhear…” The man turned to him in surprise and quickly bowed.

“Oh, Thane. I apologize for having an argument in public.”

“That’s alright…”

“Amren my Thane.”

“Amren, trying to regain your father’s sword?” Amren’s shoulders slumped dejectedly.

“Yes, but Saphir says not to expect to find her or my daughter still at home if I go off to get it.” Trav’lar’s eyes widened in shock. “But it is my father’s sword, the only thing of him I can pass on to my daughter.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Some bandits ended up with it, they are holed up in a cave not far from here, the one overlooking the road by the Meadery, called White River Watch.” Trav’lar grimaced.

“I’m familiar with it. Last time I was there, I cleared out a pack of wolves that were bothering travelers on the road. Wolves in caves are not fun.”

“Does that mean you aren’t interested?” Trav’lar shook his head.

“I’ve done it once, I can do it again. What does your father’s sword look like? So I know when I’ve found it.”

With a rough sketch of the sword and detailed handle, they separated, Amren heading home to his wife, while Trav’lar headed back to Breezehome, where he found his cousin splitting kindling next to the fireplace.

“Is Lydia here?” Faendal looked around, then leaned back to look toward the stairs.

“I think so? Lydia!” Something thumped on the floor above them, and Lydia soon appeared at the head of the stairs, book in hand.

“Yes, Faendal? Hello my Thane.” Trav’lar jumped in, excited for a change to get out of the city.

“I’m going after some bandits, want to come along?” Lydia crossed her arms and looked down at Trav’lar with disappointment, though he didn’t know why. “What? Amren asked me to retrieve a sword, his father’s sword, from them.”

“How long will this take, my Thane?” Trav’lar tilted his head as he thought.

“Perhaps until dark? They are at White River Watch, just along the road.” Lydia tapped her fingers along her arm.

“How about we head out tomorrow, my Thane. You are supposed to have dinner with the Jarl and his family tonight.” Trav’lar grimaced, now he knew why she was staring at him like that, with all the meetings he’d forgotten about it.

“That’s tonight?”

“Yes, my Thane.” Trav’lar looked down at what he was wearing and grimaced. They were nicer than his usual fare, but right now they were as dust covered as he was from the children fighting.

“I’d better get these clothes washed and take a bath.”

“Why don’t you wear some of the other clothes you have?” Faendal finished the last of the kindling and stood up, brushing small splinters off his clothes.

“There is at least one outfit that should be nice enough for the Jarl’s table.” Trav’lar frowned at his cousin, he knew almost all the clothes he got were good enough for the Jarl’s table, he just wasn’t used to wearing more than two different outfits a week.

“At least it isn’t anything like the ones the Steward was trying to get you to wear.” Lydia chuckled as Trav’lar wrinkled his nose in disgust. Those had been overly fancy, itchy monstrosities that the Steward thought worthy of the Thane. Never mind the fact that the previous Thane didn’t wear them. Instead he got some quilted outer robes in several colors with trousers, and new boots. He was also bullied into getting several new shirts and underclothes by his cousin.

“If you’re lucky, she won’t make you wear the hat.” Trav’lar rolled his eyes at the older mer and headed up to his room, following Lydia as she pulled open the tall wooden dresser.

“This outfit is the only one you need to hang in here, all your other clothes can be put in the drawers, or on the floor like you have them.” Lydia nodded to where he had left his dirty clothes in the corner, and he winced. “This one is made of finer material than the others and must be hung, to prevent creases and wrinkles, you don’t have a servant to iron them out and we are more likely to burn clothes than iron them.”

Trav’lar spotted a bundle of lavender hanging in the closet and took a quick sniff of the coat when Lydia handed it to him. It smelled like clean linen and lavender which wasn’t bad.

“This one should be reserved for the most important meetings and dinners. Don’t forget to pick out a clean shirt and pants to go with it as well.” They both headed down stairs, Lydia setting a kettle over the fire before leaving for a bit while Trav’lar and Faendal got the tub set up in front of the fire. The wooden tub was just large enough for a Bosmer to sit in, but that was about it. They filled it from water barrels they had inside, then waited for the kettle to get hot before adding the warmer water. Faendal left for his own room to give his cousin some privacy as he cleaned up.

He stripped off his dirty clothes and hesitated before setting them on a stool nearby and climbed into the lukewarm water, shivering slightly at the cool water. Since it was Sun’s Dusk, the added hot water was a relief, as was using water they had stored in the house and not straight from the well outside. Quickly he scrubbed down, using a small piece of soap to lather up his body and hair, then scooped water over his head to rinse off. Grabbing up a towel to dry off, he wrapped it around his waist and picked up his dirty clothes. Back in his room, he found a large woven basket and placed all his dirty clothing into it, then hung the towel to dry. 

Moving to the dresser, he had a choice of which of the four shirts he had to wear. The coat was a dark blue, and the pants that he was going to wear were dark as well. That left him with the dark green and dark red shirts. He glanced at the other two, white and yellow, and decided on the white.

Once he was dressed, he hooked the badge on his belt, kicked the bed a few times to settle the boots, and opened the door. Surprisingly, Faendal was standing next to Lydia on the other side, and a smile broke out across his face.

“It has finally happened Lydia. We have civilized my cousin.” Trav’lar rolled his eyes at the older mer’s laughter.

“Well?” Lydia adjusted the belt a bit, pulling his dagger sheath closer, then stepped back.

“That will do. Make sure to brush out your hair and be grateful you don’t have to wear paints and powders.” Trav’lar stared up at Lydia in alarm.

“What?”

“Paints and powders, what Imperial women like to wear to color their eyes and lips.”

“Why would I wear them if women do?” Lydia smiled, holding back laughter.

“Rich men wear them too, haven’t you noticed it on Proventus?” Trav’lar and Faendal shuddered. Camilla wore them, thickly, and they smeared badly when it rained.

“Humans are strange.” Trav’lar moved to head down the stairs, and Lydia called after him.

“Don’t forget to hang that back up after dinner, or I will have you training with the Companions for a week.

~ ~ ~ ~

Dinner with the Jarl’s family was, annoying, because of all the snide comments the children kept making just in earshot of him, but not their father. The daughter sent her meal back, complaining that her meat wasn’t rare enough, and one boy kept loudly bragging to his uncle about how he was learning to fight with his fists. 

For the first half of the meal, Trav’lar distracted himself with looking around the room, they were seated in the main hall of course, eating at the table closest to the Jarl’s seat and the kitchens. The blonde Jarl sat at the head of the table, with his brother on his left side, Trav’lar on his right, and the children next. The Housecarl was next to the quiet boy, just down from Trav’lar while the Steward and the Court Mage were seated further down.

The table was laden with the last fresh fruits and vegetables from the harvest, and half of an elk as the center piece. There were several small pies, fruit and berry, meat, and cheese, along with several breads, not to forget several wines, meads and ales. The dishes were all white and blue fired clay, very delicate, and a show of the Jarl’s wealth.

“I’ve been getting reports about you helping out the citizens, it seems like you are taking to being Thane quite well.” Balgruuf set down his goblet and took a bite of meat while Hrongar leaned forward to get Trav’lar’s attention.

“How are you doing as the Dragonborn though? You’ve met with the Greybeards, what did they tell you?”

“Hrongar.” The younger man scowled at his brother and Trav’lar fiddled with his cup of mead, wondering how much he should share.

“They taught me about the shouts, what they mean and how to do it. They all speak the dragon tongue up there, so powerful that only one is safe to talk to. I also learned of the roll of the dragonborn, I have to defeat Alduin.” He didn’t mention meeting the remnants of the Blades, some things needed to remain secret.

“Alduin? What does that mean? Aren’t you here to defeat the dragons?” Hrongar was looking at Trav’lar skeptically. “And what about the Imperials? What are you going to do about them?”

“Hrongar!” Balgruuf slammed a fist down onto the table, effectively silencing everyone. “I told you I don’t want any talk of the war at this table.”

“You will have to choose a side soon brother.” Hrongar glowered at his brother and Trav’lar was glad the attention was off him. “You won’t be able to stay neutral forever.”

“For now, I support the Dragonborn.” The Jarl turned to Trav’lar, who straightened in his seat, stomach clenching with worry. “You were saying about Alduin?”

Trav’lar finished off his mead to give himself time to compose himself and calm down. “That is who is bringing the dragons back, Alduin. He’s the dragon that destroyed Helgen.”

“How is a dragon bringing dead dragons back to life?” Balgruuf looked confused, while Hrongar looked like he didn’t believe him.

“I don’t know, I have some books from the Greybeards I was going to study, then ask them myself if I had to. Since you made me Thane, I decided to take this time to catch up on my duties while studying about the Dragonborn.”

“The Greybeards couldn’t teach you? You should have stayed with them longer if you still need to learn.” Hrongar grumbled at him through his beard and Trav’lar sneered at the Nord.

“The Greybeards want me to follow the way of the voice and meditate on peace. Arngeir doesn’t want me to use my voice to fight the dragons, that violence is not the way of Kynareth.”

While Hrongar puffed in indignation, Trav’lar turned to the Jarl, determined to change the subject. “My Housecarl, Lydia, has been a great help with my duties as Thane. You should know that I have no experience with politics.”

Balgruuf nodded and took a sip of his drink. “I guessed you hadn’t, and honestly, I made you Thane to help keep my city out of this war longer.

“Lydia suspected as much.” Hrongar growled quietly, rubbing a hand over his closely shaved head and cut into his steak, stuffing a piece into his mouth and chewing angrily. The Jarl’s daughter chose that moment to speak up, startling Trav’lar for a moment, the children had been utterly still and silent during the earlier argument.

“If he is so stupid, then why did you choose him father?” Trav’lar rolled his eyes as the Jarl chastised his daughter, not that she was going to listen to him, and finished off the steak on his plate, it was quite delicious.

“It doesn’t matter if he isn’t smart Dagny, he’s the Dragonborn, he can beat up whoever he wants.” The boy raised his fists and jabbed the air, the stuck his tongue out at his sister. The other boy rolled his eyes.

“You can’t beat up everyone Frothar.” The Jarl sighed.

“Alright, dinner is over, you are excused to your rooms.” There was some grumbling as they left, Frothar shoving one last piece of meat into his mouth before he left the table. “I’m sorry, they haven’t yet learned not to always share what is on their minds.”

Trav’lar nodded, figuring the lack of a mother in their lives had something to do with it, his own mother would have smacked him around the ears if he had mouthed off to someone important. The table fell into an awkward silence that remained even when the servants came to clear away the dishes and the remains of the meal, until at last Balgruuf stood.

“If you do have any questions, don’t hesitate to bring them to me, we both want you to succeed.” Trav’lar thanked the Jarl and quickly left Dragonsreach, speeding up his pace when he heard the children arguing from the balcony above.

~ ~ ~ ~

Once Trav’lar closed the door behind himself, he leaned against it with a sigh.

“Uh oh. Sounds like things didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.” Faendal was sitting next to the fireplace waxing his bow strings. “What happened?”

“The Jarl’s children think I’m an idiot, and his brother wants me to help fight the Imperials.” Faendal stiffened in his chair, looking worried as his grip tightened on the wax.

“Has the Jarl finally chosen a side? Has he joined the Stormcloaks?” Trav’lar shook his head and sat in another chair, swiping a bottle of cider and taking a long drink from it.

“No, he wants to remain neutral for as long as possible, which is why he made me Thane. Who would dare attack the city the Dragonborn resides in?” Faendal sighed.

“I was worried it was something like that.” He looked at his cousin as the younger took a bite of cheese and washed it down with more cider. “Does that bother you?”

“Not really, I’m sort of relieved we don’t have to worry about who’s side of the war we are on, but the threat of the Dragonborn will only last so long.” Trav’lar finished off the last of the cheese and leaned back to look at the kitchen table, trying to see if there were any leftovers.

“Don’t tell me you are still hungry?” Trav’lar frowned at his cousin.

“You try eating your fill while talking about war and dragons, and a child is calling you an idiot.” Faendal flinched but chuckled.

“Alright, alright. There should be some smoked pheasant in the cupboard, the brothers stopped by while you were out. They said they are going to start cutting back their hunting.” Trav’lar turned to face his cousin, stopping his trek to the cupboard.

“What? Why are they doing that? Anoriath was just telling his brother he thought he should go on a long hunt, this is the best part of the season.” Faendal inspected his bow string again and shrugged.

“They think there is something else out there hunting as well. They’ve heard strange howling at night, not like a normal wolf, and Anoriath has come across animals that have been savaged, ripped apart.” Trav’lar sucked in a shocked breath.

“Werewolves? Here?” Faendal nodded reluctantly.

“That’s what it looks like.” Trav’lar rested an arm against the wall as he leaned into it.

“Damn, first dragons, and now werewolves.”

“I’ve never encountered one, but Elrindir said he had once back in Valenwood. It killed two other hunters in their group before they were able to bring it down.” Trav’lar groaned and rubbed his face. If there was a werewolf out there, it would soon be up to him to at least help hunt it down, being a hunter, not to forget Thane and Dragonborn.

“Why does every creature choose now to crawl out from under whatever rock they were hiding under?” He sighed again, looking at the cupboard. “Forget it, I’m going to get some sleep. I have a sword to look for in the morning.”

Faendal wished him goodnight, spending a bit more time in front of the fire making sure his weapons were in good condition, before banking the fire for the night, and heading to his own room.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throws this out there and runs!!!

Chapter 12

Trav’lar took a deep breath of the crisp morning air as they approached the Meadery, and smelled snow, pulling his cloak around himself a bit more, glad he wore extra thick clothing under his armor. It didn’t look like it was going to snow down in the valley, but he was confident that Riverwood could get snow, the ruins of Helgen definitely, which was good for them. With the wind coming from the mountains, they had gotten away from the smells of the city and farms, yet hadn’t gotten close enough to smell the Meadery, so Trav’lar took the chance to take in some cleansing air, something he’d missed in his weeks in the city. 

It was just passed dawn and Trav’lar didn’t expect them to take too long to retrieve the sword and get it back to Amren before the noon meal. Lydia had stopped by the Steward to check if there were any bounties for bandits that were hiding out at White River Watch, but there was nothing for sure.

“Greetings Thane. Everything is in order.” Trav’lar started in surprise as a guardsman suddenly spoke to him. The man must have been motionless next to the tree for him to have not noticed him.

“Oh, that’s good guardsman, thank you.” He knew Lydia was laughing silently at him but didn’t want to shove her with anyone watching. It would be unprofessional, and Lydia might shove him back. With her Nord strength, she could probably knock him over. The guardsman bowed as they passed, and Trav’lar picked up the pace to a jog, Lydia following behind. They passed the Meadery, steam rising from the boiler, surrounded by the last lavender blooms of the season. An older Nord man was sweeping in front of the Meadery, watching them as they went by, occasionally shooing the chickens away from his feet.

With his pace, they were moving too quickly for anything except a quick greeting from the guards and soon enough they were approaching the thin dirt track that led from the main road up to the cave. Recent tracks showed only humans having traveled the trail, and Trav’lar strung his bow, bracing the bottom with his leg as he bent down the top, while Lydia readied her sword, the blade sliding smoothly against the leather sheath. They snuck up the hill, Trav’lar’s ears twitching when he picked up voices. Stopping behind a boulder while still out of sight of the entrance, he listened for a moment, then held up two fingers to Lydia. She nodded and started up the trail.

As they moved into sight, the two were complaining about a blind man and not trusting their boss’ judgment. They fell quiet as Lydia stepping into view, then drew their weapons. Lydia rushed forward, shield up to block the first man’s mace. Both men were wearing a mismatch mix of armor and dirty clothing, the one Lydia was facing looked to be the better off of the two. Trav’lar made his move, drawing back and releasing an arrow at the other bandit, hurrying forward for another shot as the lightly armored man took it in the chest and collapsed with a cry of pain.

As his companion fell, the man Lydia was fighting jumped back, putting the cookfire between them, and making Trav’lar’s second shot fly passed his shoulder. The bandit startled and swiped everything off the makeshift table next to him into the fire, which blew up as if someone had spilled grease in it.

Lydia stepped back, raising her shield up to block the heat of the flames and Trav’lar blindly shot through them. They ran around the fire just in time to see the bandit drop out of sight down the hill, back toward the road.

“Looks like he’s heading for the road, patrols should pick him up if he’s out long.” Lydia relaxed her stance but didn’t yet sheath her sword. Trav’lar looked up at the billowing black smoke the burst of fire had created, making its way into the sky like a beacon.

“Might be sooner than we think, if they notice that.” The smoke returned to normal as the flames burned through the last of whatever it was that had been knocked in.

“We’d best go on then, hopefully no others noticed the smoke, or we may be in for a surprise.” Lydia rolled her shoulders and shook her arms out. Trav’lar nodded and brought his strung bow around over his shoulder to lay across his chest, ready if he needed it, but out of the way in the narrow tunnels, and drew the short sword Lydia had made him learn to use.

The first section of the cave was lit by the sunlight outside, but there was a section ahead that was dark before they reached the first torch that was around the corner further in.

“Who’s there? Rodulf?” Trav’lar almost had a heart attack and turned to face the direction of the voice. He heard Lydia’s breath pick up as her elbow came to rest against his back. As his eyes adjusted from going from daylight to nothing, he was barely able to pick out an older human sitting at a table, with his back to them. The tunnel was wider than he’d thought to be able to hide so much. Lydia shifted, and the man’s head turned in their direction. “Both of you are here? Then who is guarding the entrance? The boss isn’t going to be happy with you.”

Trav’lar stayed silent and the old man stood, drawing his sword. “You aren’t Rodulf, who are you?” Before either of them could answer, the man ran at them, swinging his sword. Trav’lar batted it away and Lydia finished the bandit off with a blind thrust that caught the bandit under his arm, slipping past his armor into his chest.

“You got him Lydia.” Trav’lar reached out his hand until he touched her shoulder as the bandit collapsed with a wet gasp, and she relaxed her stance. They stood there for a moment longer until the bandit stopped gasping and lay still. “Just follow me until we’re in the light.”

Once around the corner, they could both see where they were going, and Lydia pulled the torch out of where it had been wedged into the wall, tossing her shield up to rest against her back. As they made their way through, signs of habitation were more obvious the further into the cave they went. Piles of spoils, bedding in the wider chambers, ramshackle tables and chairs around cold firepits. This group of bandits had been doing well, and Trav’lar grimaced as he saw women’s and children’s clothing in the piles, hearing Lydia growl behind him.

When the first howl reached them, Trav’lar’s blood ran cold and he instantly remembered his conversation with his cousin the night before about werewolves. A second howl yip had him breathing again, it was just a normal wolf, calling for its pack, but this far into the cave, its cries wouldn’t reach the outside. They crept closer and he heard the wolf snarl and hit something that rattled like cage bars.

“Dogs I can train, but a half-starved wolf?” Trav’lar peered around the curve of the cave, spotting several bandits in a large semi-lit chamber, one being an orc, and a barricaded wolf, pacing the confines of its alcove. Movement from above drew his attention to an archer, who was looking down at the group below, finishing a yawn, partially in shadow. In total there seemed to be at least four bandits in the chamber ahead of them. He slid back out of sight, so he could whisper to Lydia.

“We’re outnumbered, and there is an archer with the high ground.” Trav’lar glanced back, eyeing the distance between them and the caged wolf, and the bandits, and switched his sword for his bow. “Stay here, I have an idea, but be ready.”

Creeping forward, Trav’lar got closer to the cage, the bandits weren’t watching the wolf any longer, moving to start a game of cards, so they didn’t notice him reaching over to the cage door latch, pulling slightly to find it was only held shut with a nail instead of a lock. As he met the eyes of the wolf, he could hear Lydia hiss his title at him, obviously not happy with what he was doing.

It didn’t take much to charm the wolf, the young creature wanted out and to rip into the ones who had separated him from his family. Trav’lar looked back at Lydia to nod, and she moved into a crouch, setting the torch upside down in a jug, sword and shield ready. He eased the cage door open slightly and moved back, nocking an arrow and taking aim at the other archer.

As his arrow slammed into the unaware bandit, the wolf charged out of the cage with a snarl, easily shouldering the door open, and heading straight for the orc. The orc’s surprised shout had Lydia charging into the fight. Surprisingly enough, it was over quickly and Trav’lar held Lydia back when she turned to face the wolf. The beast had gone straight for the orc’s throat, and held on tight as the bandit fought, holding him down until the struggling stopped.

The wolf turned to face them, the fur along his jaw matted with fresh blood, eyes gleaming bright. Trav’lar pulled Lydia back as he moved them to the far wall, clearing the path out of the cave. The wolf gave a quick wag of his tail, then disappeared down the tunnel without a sound.

“What was that?” Trav’lar could feel his ears tilt down at Lydia’s question and his shoulders hunched up defensively. He was so used to Nords mocking his natural skills that his reactions were automatic.

“He wanted out, so I let him out. After making sure to Charm him to our side.” To his surprise, Lydia left it at that and resumed the lead, picking up another torch to light their way. When they reached the other exit of the cave without seeing anyone else, Trav’lar was worried they were going to end up having to go back through the cave and search every nook and cranny for the sword, hoping it hadn’t been used by a bandit to murder an innocent traveler. 

When they emerged outside, he spotted a lone bandit, dressed in an almost complete set of heavy armor, mismatched as it was minus the helmet, with the area set up as his own personal space, possibly the leader of this band. His head was shaved clean except for a mohawk of dark hair and had a red band of paint across his eyes.

The bandit spotted them and drew his sword, a two-handed monstrosity, Lydia running to meet him since Trav’lar didn’t have a shot against the heavier armor. They traded a few blows before Lydia was able to knock the other’s sword from his hands, but soon found herself deflecting heavy punches as the bandit switched to fist fighting, his blows actually knocking the Housecarl back and off balance. As Trav’lar watched with worry, he felt something start to burn in his chest, making him grimace as he realized what was happening.

“Lydia, down!” Lydia dove to the side, keeping her shield over herself and Trav’lar’s arrow glanced off the bandit’s armor, momentarily drawing his attention. _“FUS!”_

The bandit staggered back, Trav’lar sagging a bit as he became dizzy, and Lydia rushed up with a yell, knocking into the bandit, shield first. Suddenly the criminal tilted back, tripping on the rocks, losing his balance and falling back over the face of the mountain.

~ ~ ~ ~

Trav’lar grimaced as he looked at the body. The bandit, who they discovered was Hajvarr Iron-hand from the guards they spoke too, had bounced and slid all the way down the mountain side to the road, where he landed in a mangled sprawl. It was easy to tell he’d broken his neck on the way down. Besides the gruesome body, Trav’lar also grimaced because his Shout had drawn the attention of several patrolling guards, who thought his Shout had done the damage, even though he tried to tell them it was from the fall. All he got back was, “Of course, Dragonborn.”

“Well, my Thane.” Lydia said as they watched the guards take the covered body away in a cart, a wagon was going to come later for the rest of the bandits. “You got the sword you were asked to find and removed a bandit threat at the same time.”

Trav’lar held up a hand to stop her, the other rubbing at his eyes. She just smiled and followed him as they headed back to Whiterun, Amren’s sword slung across his back with some rope. Unfortunately, word traveled faster than they did, so Trav’lar was greeted with nods of respect from the guards and looks of awe from the people as he looked for Amren.

“I heard he defeated an entire group of bandits with one shout.” Trav’lar allowed his eyes to narrow in a wince but didn’t let anything else show he was hearing the already warped rumors. “No, it was the leader of the bandits, broke every bone in his body.”

Trav’lar found the Redguard by the Gildergreen, Lydia continuing to Dragonsreach to report on the bandits, and when he held the sword out, Amren’s eyes got suspiciously wet.

“Oh, thank you so much Thane. Saphir only believed I wanted to go out on an adventure, but now I can show her it was for a link back to our homeland and my family for my daughter. Thank you so much.” Amren actually bowed to Trav’lar before hurrying back towards his home.

“So, you helped him find the sword?” Trav’lar felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in surprise at the deep voice, and he turned to face them. It was one of the Companion twins, dark haired and silver eyed, leaning up against the dead tree with his arms crossed. Judging by the friendly, if mocking smile the other was giving him, and the braids in the longer hair, it was Farkas who stood before him, and not Vilkas. “He asked up at Jorrvaskr for help, and the guards as well, but he couldn’t afford what it would cost him. More like his wife didn’t, but I’m glad someone stepped up to help, family is important.”

Trav’lar glanced around quickly, but Aela wasn’t around and the large Companion chuckled as if he knew who he was watching out for. “What are you doing out here Farkas? Don’t you have new bloods to beat on?” Trav’lar meant it as a jest, but Farkas grimaced.

“Not anymore, the welp couldn’t take it and ran off last night. Tilda made him up a packet of food while he told her he was going back home to Rorikstead to be a farmer.” Trav’lar nodded, he remembered the blond Nord, he had complained a lot for an up and coming warrior. Farkas suddenly grinned at Trav’lar, all teeth. “That means we’ll have more time to train you.”

Trav’lar backed up a few steps, hands up between them as though to ward off the larger Nord. “That is not necessary. In fact, I must go now, Lydia—no, my cousin needs me.”

The warrior laughed deep and loud as Trav’lar turned away and _didn’t_ rush down the stairs back towards Breezehome.

~ ~ ~ ~

Trav’lar fought to open his eyes, feeling as though they were being held down and stared blearily at the flickering light, he could see. His ears were ringing and with his blurry vision he didn’t realize someone had crouched next to him until they were trying to pull him to his feet. A snarling growl then a yelp of pain as someone grabbed him under the arms and started dragging him away, until he was left resting against something.

A dark figure stood in front of him and blocked some of the light, and as his hearing started to return, Trav’lar could hear the clashing of metal and shouts around him. A wet gurgling proceeded the thump of something hitting the ground, and Trav’lar reached up to wipe at his eyes, pulling his hand back in surprise when it came away wet with blood.

“My Thane, are you well?” Trav’lar blinked at the speaking figure then looked around. There were guards all around, some standing, some trying to get to their feet. The surprising parts were the black dog like creatures he could see and watched as a body slowly collapsed into dust.

“Vampires.” Trav’lar looked around but couldn’t see his cousin or the brothers, who were with him as last he could remember. “Faendal, where is he?”

“He was already at the Drunken Huntsman with the brothers, they are alright. I’m more worried about you, you took a bad blow to the head.” Trav’lar felt Lydia touching his head and flinched at the burst of pain that sent sparks across his vision. “We’ll have Danica check you over at the temple, also make sure no one has been infected.”

Trav’lar shuddered at the thought, and allowed Lydia to pull him to his feet, steadying him as his head pounded making him sway with his eyes closed. Squinting when he opened his eyes, Trav’lar found himself looking at one of the nicer homes in the Cloud district, the Battleborn’s if he remembered correctly, and it bothered him that the vampires had gotten so far into the city before being spotted.

“How many were there?” Trav’lar asked Lydia, as they moved past another pile of ash and dust.

“Three vampires and their demon dogs, and at least four thralls.”

“That is not a small group.” Lydia shook her head.

“No, and we most likely wouldn’t have known they were here if Brenuin hadn’t tried picking one of their pockets.” Trav’lar frowned then stared at Lydia in surprise.

“He tried to pick their pockets? The drunkard?” Lydia nodded and Trav’lar shook his head in disbelief.

“Is he still alive or…” Lydia snorted and sneered.

“As soon as he realized what they were, he ran for the guards, screaming his head off.” Trav’lar nodded then grimaced as his neck twinged, Brenuin screaming had been what caught their attention, but everything was a blur after that.

They passed through the doors of the Temple, several guards already taking up spots on benches while the worse off lay on cots. Lydia tried to lead him to a cot, but he slipped away and sat on a bench next to a guardsman who was cradling his bandaged arm.

“By Kynareth, what happened?” Danica came out of a side room, hastily pulling her hair back, half earing a priestess robe over her sleep clothes.

“Vampire attack, there will be more coming once they’ve disposed of the bodies.”

“No send them to Andurs, we won’t have enough healing for more.” Danica closed her eyes and seemed to mutter a short prayer, before rolling up her sleeves and heading towards those that looked worst off.

As the priests and priestesses of Kynareth moved among the injured, the room seemed to brighten slowly with a pale blue light. Trav’lar noticed it after he’d sat with his eyes closed for a while, then opened them when he felt a breeze touch him. The temple workers seemed to be strengthened by it and soon everyone had been seen to, either healed or bandaged. Trav’lar himself had gotten his head tended and a spell of healing washed over him.

Danica stood in the center of the room, head up and arms outstretched, robes rippling in a breeze that had no open doors or windows to come through. Trav’lar gave a prayer of thanks to Kynareth and again felt the gentle breeze caress him.

“Danica, no one shows signs of being infected.” Danica smiled at the ceiling then turned to her priest.

“Kynareth has blessed us. No one here will become a vampire.” The guardsmen all let out sighs of relief and gave thanks to the goddess of the elements. “She will lend you her strength and blessing until dawn.”

Lydia followed as Trav’lar stood and headed out. If Faendal had heard any of the commotion he’d be worried, though Trav’lar telling the others what had happened was going to make him frantic. He’d barely opened the door to the Huntsmen when it was yanked open by his cousin, who looked them both over critically, spotting the blood staining their clothes.

“What happened? That can wait, are you hurt?” Faendal grabbed Trav’lar by the arm and pulled him inside, the brothers looking up in surprise at Faendal’s manhandling.

“Vampires got into the city and attacked Brenuin.” Lydia said. “We and the guards heard and went to help.”

“Vampires?” Faendal stared at his cousin in horror. “But you don’t have your weapons, or armor.”

“Lydia was armed, and I do have a dagger.” Trav’lar pushed his cousin back then grabbed both his arms gently. “Don’t worry, we already went to Danica, we’re fine.”

Faendal glanced at Lydia who nodded and set her sword down by the door.

“They got inside the city?” Anoriath looked worried, since he’d been the one who’d warned them about the strange attacks around the city. “How?”

Trav’lar shrugged and sat down next to the fire. “They had hoods, perhaps they had them on when they came in. Or they came in right at dust. Or they hid in the catacombs right under Arkay’s nose.” Lydia slapped his shoulder.

“Don’t make fun of the God of Death just because his priest annoyed you.” The brothers snickered, the story of Andurs losing his amulet was still funny.

“I still think it was a test given to him by Arkay.” Trav’lar grumbled.

“Then he failed and Arkay can deal with it. Now eat.” The brothers snickered again but were cowed by Lydia’s stare, and returned to filling plates for everyone. Faendal still hovered but did leave his cousin alone as the younger mer scarfed down his dinner, famished from the healing. After everyone had eaten their fill, meaning three full plates for Trav’lar, a knock came at the door before a guardsman let himself in.

“There you are Thane; the Jarl is looking for you and we didn’t find you at your home.” Trav’lar sighed, he’d figured the Jarl would want to talk to him eventually about the vampire attack but had been hoping it could wait until morning after everyone had rested.

“I’ll head up soon, thank you.” Faendal grumbled something so Trav’lar turned to his cousin. “You can stay with the brothers tonight or go with me and Lydia until we reach the house and you can wait for us there.”

There was a beat of silence as all three older mer stared at him in surprise before Anoriath burst into laughter.

“Oh, by the Pact Trav’lar, you sounded just like your aunt there.” Suddenly the younger mer found himself in a headlock as his cousin grumbled at him.

“Don’t you treat me like a youngling who hasn’t made his first kill, I don’t need to be patronized. You are the one who was attacked and injured, you should be safely inside and put to bed early.” Lydia rolled her eyes at the mer’s antics before picking up her blade and shield.

“If you two are done acting like children, it’s time we met with the Jarl as requested.”

Faendal ended up going with them back to Breezehome, if just to avoid the teasing he’d get from the brothers, while Trav’lar and Lydia ended up with two guardsmen as escort. The meeting wasn’t long, no one had any information about the vampires, where they came from or why they were in the city. Besides the strange attacks on animals beyond the farms around Whiterun, there wasn’t much they could do.

The patrols were increased with more men per patrol and the Jarl planned on informing the people of the vampire threat in the morning. Both priests were there, as well as the captain of the guard and some men, and the leader of the Companions.

“I heard there was an orc asking around for people to join the Dawnguard?” Trav’lar glanced around the table and saw several guards nodding. “Perhaps we can try to get a message to them asking for their help against the vampires?”

“Send a missive to the Vigilants of Stendarr.” The priest of Arkay bowed to the Jarl. For the most part, he and Danica had been quiet, just reporting that no one was infected and most had been sent back to the barracks. Danica leaned back in her seat.

“Send for both of them, the Vigilants have been busy of late, and the Dawnguard might still be close by.”

The Jarl nodded and turned to Proventus. “That is a good plan. Write up two missives and have them delivered to the couriers in the morning. I doubt they would want to leave tonight with the vampire attack still so fresh.”

“While we are out, we will keep an eye out for vampires and remove them.” Kodlak, the Harbinger of the Companions, pointed out several locations on the map spread on the table and spread his hand across an area to the East of the city. “We’ve recently gone through these areas and cleared them of bandits or undead, and have been patrolling along this area, and have seen no sign of vampires.”

“Lydia and I just cleared this cave of bandits.” Trav’lar pointed out the cave where they’d gotten Amren’s sword. The Jarl looked over the map and sighed.

“So, it seems they most likely came from the North West, I’ll ask for a report from Rorikstead. Until then, we’ll just have to wipe them out whenever they are found.”

The Jarl dismissed them and Trav’lar eagerly headed to bed.


	13. Rorikstead

Chapter 13

The Jarl’s announcement was met with cries of dismay and many started asking what was to be done. Most were reassured when they were told about the Vigilants and Dawnguard being contacted, and the Companions being on the alert along with the strengthened patrols. Everyone was advised to be inside by dark just to keep everyone safe, and the homeless were welcomed into the temples and tavern for the night.

Not everyone took the news well, the “priest” of Talos added the threat of vampires to his rant, saying it was punishment for not joining the Stormcloaks in the war against the Empire, and went on for days. Trav’lar made sure to stay out of his way, not wanting to be yelled at for being an elf, and for not taking his Dragonborn duties seriously.

“I swear, that man wouldn’t be happy if the statue of Talos came to life and greeted him personally.” Lydia glared in the direction of the fanatic while Trav’lar chuckled. They were sparring with the Companions that weren’t out on patrol, a few days after the vampire attack, and Trav’lar was happy to find he was starting to hold his own against everyone except the twins and Aela. Even Skjor would have trouble landing a hit on him when they sparred.

Athis would forget himself sometimes and bring Trav’lar down in a flurry of blows, while Njada would bash him with her shield when she started to get bored. So, slowly but surely, he was building up his strength and speed, though his scarred arm would start to ache if he blocked too many blows.

Athis snorted at Lydia’s comment from where he was inspecting his practice blades. “At least he goes to bed at a decent hour, and we don’t have to put up with his screeching all night.”

“Thane, the Jarl wishes to speak with you.” Trav’lar quickly placed his training blade in the rack as the guardsman approached, Athis was looking like he wanted to start beating him again.

“Thank you, Geoff.” The guardsman bowed while Athis shouted at his back.

“Don’t think we are done here, Lydia wants you able to beat at least one of us, and Torvar doesn’t count.” Trav’lar shot a glare the dunmer’s way, but the Companion just grinned back.

They were led up to the Jarl’s war room, where Trav’lar was surprised to see Kodlak waiting along with the Jarl’s court wizard.

“I haven’t gotten a report back from Rorikstead, and the courier hasn’t returned. According to Farengar, one of those dragon burial sites is very close to the village.” The Wizard spread out a map that was identical to the one Delphine had.

“Well, as close as my calculations say. The original map was ancient and used a completely different measurement system, and if you bring into account—” The Jarl cleared his throat and the Mage stumbled to a stop. “Yes, it is close to Rorikstead.”

“Kodlak wants to send some of his people with you, to get experience fighting dragons in the one there has been brought back.” The Jarl nodded to the older man.

“If you don’t mind Dragonborn, I want to send Athis and Ria with you, since the twins are out on a job at the moment.” Trav’lar nodded to the older man.

“Thank you Kodlak. I appreciate all the help I can get.”

“If you leave now, you can reach Rorikstead in a few hours by cart.” Trav’lar glanced at the Jarl, who raised a hand before he could speak. “A cart driven by some of the guards, who will also accompany you to Rorikstead.”

Trav’lar nodded and bowed to the Jarl. “We’ll meet the cart outside the city in half-an-hour, thank you Jarl.”

Once outside Trav’lar ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh, looking out at the city but not really seeing it or the late autumn weather.

“Is something the matter, my Thane?”

“Faendal is out hunting with Anoriath, so I’m going to have to leave a note.” Lydia hummed.

“I suggest you only say you have been called out to Rorikstead on a task for the Jarl.” Trav’lar blinked in surprise and turned to Lydia.

“That was amazingly simple. It was much simpler to go off on my own before all this started.” Lydia smiled.

“Do you wish your cousin had stayed at home and not followed you?” Trav’lar shook his head and started down the steps from Dragonsreach, being careful where the water had splashed onto the stone steps and frozen.

“Of course not. Let’s get going though, before he feels inspired to return early because we’re talking about him.”

Packing some simple food for a couple days, Trav’lar jotted a quick note and left it on the table, making sure to mention Lydia was with him, and headed out, just catching Ria as she headed out the city gates. Athis was already waiting by the cart, bundled up against the cool weather. Whiterun didn’t get much snow in the winter, but Rorikstead was closer to the mountains of the Reach, and while they might not receive snow, the winds coming off the slopes would chill even a Nord. The dunmer gave Trav’lar a big toothy grin when he spotted the other mer.

“Perhaps we’ll have some time to spar on this trip. Ever fought hand to hand in the back of a wagon?”

“Not now Athis.” Ria tossed her pack at the dunmer who caught it instinctively, then carelessly tossed it into the wagon. She also smiled over her shoulder at Trav’lar. “Perhaps on the way back.

“Traitor.” Both Companions laughed and climbed into the wagon. With the guards, their group numbered at six which Trav’lar hoped would be enough if there was a dragon at Rorikstead.

~ ~ ~ ~

The first sign that something was wrong, were the two dead mammoths and giant near the road, before they’d reached the small village. There was no Frost or Flame damage, just large claw marks and bite wounds.

“Definitely a dragon. Damn.” Trav’lar stood on top of the wagon seat and looked around the area. The ground was torn up from the fight and he spotted where he thought the dragon may have landed once. A mound off in the distance caught his eye and he squinted but couldn’t quite see it against the grey cloud covered skyline. A pillar of stone was nearby so he scrambled to the top of that with help from Lydia for more height. 

“Damn.”

“What is it my Thane?” Trav’lar pointed toward the mound they couldn’t see, hidden from the road by a small hill.

“There is another burial mound back there, still undisturbed.”

“For now, you mean.” Athis growled out, looking around the area as well.

“We’ll worry about it on the way back.” One of the guards picked up the reins and took a seat on the wagon. “We still have Rorikstead to worry about.”

~ ~ ~ ~

As they approached the village, there seemed to be no sign of trouble. No buildings burning or laying in ruin, no dragon flying overhead, no one running around screaming for help. As they got closer though, they all realized that there was no one outside. No one working the fields, no one on patrol. No chickens roaming and no cattle in sight.

The guardsmen pulled the wagon up next to the deck of the first building they came to, and they all bailed out, heading for the Inn. The door was locked when they reached it, and Geoff pounded on it.

“We are a patrol from Whiterun, open up.” Nothing happened for a few moments and he hit the door again. “Open the door or we will break it down!”

There was a noise of wood on wood from inside and the guard stepped back. Trav’lar scanned the village but couldn’t see anyone even looking out a window in curiosity. After what sounded like the entirety of the Inn’s furniture, the door opened, and a dirty face looked back at them.

“Oh, thank the Eight.” The door opened wider and they were beckoned inside. “We were worried they courier didn’t reach you.”

“What courier?” Trav’lar looked around the darkened Inn and spotted others coming up from downstairs. The man turned to the guardsman in confusion.

“We sent a courier asking for help against the dragon, but when nothing happened, we thought he didn’t make it. He left a week ago.” They all exchanged glanced. It seemed that neither courier reached their destination. Everyone turned to look at Trav’lar, who sighed.

“This dragon, when and how did it appear?” A Rorikstead guard with a bandaged arm in a sling stepped forward.

“We heard lots of roaring from the hills above the village that night. We headed up to check it out, and it dropped on us from the sky, flying away with two of my men. I came back to warn the village. It attacked again and that is when I was injured, it’s been flying around the perimeter of the valley ever since, keeping us trapped here.” Geoff looked around the Inn.

“Is everyone in the village here?” The injured man nodded.

“All except those we lost.” Trav’lar suddenly shivered as his hairs stood on end and Athis spun toward the door.

“Quiet.” The Companion moved to the Inn door and cracked it open, Trav’lar moving up behind him to listen as well. There was a distant roar and he turned to the others.

“The dragon’s coming, we should move so the villagers don’t get hurt in the fight.” Lydia tightened a gauntlet and nodded.

“Ready when you are Thane.” Trav’lar ignored the surprised murmurs and peered out the door, looking around for the best place to confront the dragon. Unfortunately, the area was bare of any trees or large rock outcrops they could use for shelter, and if the dragon used any magic then the village would get destroyed.

“Cover is pretty slim out here, any plans?” Trav’lar grimaced and drew his bow.

“We need to draw its attention to the narrow spot in the road where it passes between the hills, try to bring it down there so it can’t maneuver as well, and kill it.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a plan.” Ria grumbled and Trav’lar glanced at her.

“Once I Shout at it, most of its attention will be on me, not you.” Ria had nothing to say to that, though Lydia frowned.

“We’d best get into place then, its coming closer.” Athis strung the bow he’d brought, making him their third archer. The villagers all started heading below as the fighters all moved outside to face the dragon. Using the buildings as cover, they soon reached their ambush spot.

A rumble from the air had them ducking down against the rocks, but the dragon wasn’t yet in sight. After several minutes of nothing, Athis stepped onto the road with a huff.

“No use waiting to die.” Using magic, he set the end of his arrow on fire, and shot in the dragon’s direction. It missed but did the job of catching the beast’s attention. “Here we go.”

Athis darted back into cover as Trav’lar stepped out and started jogging down the road, arrow ready in one hand. The dragon flew around at a distance, knowing he was there, but not seeming very interested, Trav’lar aimed to change that. He waited until the dragon was nearest the road in its back and forth flight, then Shouted.

_“FUS!”_ The dragon wheeled around sharply, pausing to hover as it looked around for whomever was challenging it. Trav’lar drew back his bow and released, the arrow ricocheting off its shoulder. Spotting him again, the dragon let out a furious roar and headed straight for him. Trav’lar waited unmoving until it started reaching out to grab him.

_“FUS RO DAH!”_ The Shout caught the dragon straight in the chest and it gave a wuff of a gasp, as the air was knocked out of it. Trav’lar dove to the side, tucking and rolling away from the great beast as it fell to the road in a mess of limbs.

Athis launched a gout of flames at the wings as Lydia and Ria rushed in with the guards, then switched to his bow as the magic seemed to do nothing. The dragon roared and batted at those attacking it, then let out a familiar shout that knocked them back.

_“FUS.”_ The dragon flinched away as arrows struck its face, giving Lydia and Ria a chance to get up and charge the dragon again. Trav’lar dizzily pushed himself up, thrown from the Shouts and the tumble he took, then had to jump back as a wing came his way. He was stuck close to the dragon, the narrowness of the road hindering him just as much as the dragon. Dodging another wing blow, Trav’lar aimed for the wings, hoping to put enough holes in them to keep the dragon grounded.

Suddenly a large figure jumped with a war cry from the rocks above, onto the dragon’s back, smashing with a greatsword. Trav’lar quickly corrected his aim to miss the fighter and only just put the arrow through a wing. The dragon roared and shook its attacker off, then was unable to turn to reach him with its teeth but was faced with a second warrior.

“Farkas? Vilkas?” Ria spared a moment to look at the new arrivals in surprise. “What are you two doing here?”

“Not now.” Vilkas grunted as a wing hit his shield and brought his sword down on the limb. The dragon roared, the coughed, as Farkas popped up and jabbed it in the neck. The large warrior stepped back, then swung his sword around again, opening a gash in the dragon’s neck. Vilkas, being closer, darted in with Lydia and jammed their swords into the wound, making the dragon jerk back onto its back legs.

_“FUS!”_ The Shout was weak but hit the dragon and was just enough to start toppling it over onto its back, bodies running out of the way as to not get crushed, and Trav’lar slumped down onto his knees, winded. Everyone moved further out of the way as the dragon thrashed around, Lydia dragging her Thane back, tail and wings knocking rocks and dirt loose from the hillsides. Finally, it stilled and Trav’lar braced himself as the dragon’s flesh burned away into nothingness and the soul rushed to him. He was glad Lydia was bracing him, because he would have fallen when he was overwhelmed with how young, angry and fearful the dragon was, only just old enough to be considered an adult. Memories still fresh of running around after older dragons, his first fight, and his first kill, and his name, Kulvurnor.

“My Thane?” Trav’lar looked up at Lydia, then around at the others. Ria lay sprawled out on the road, waving away a guard when he went to her. Vilkas was checking his brother, who was grinning like a fool, both splattered in dragon’s blood.

“I am alright, where is Athis? Did we lose anyone?” Movement by the dragon’s skeleton had Trav’lar pushing himself to his feet. The dunmer was climbing to his feet from under what remained of the dragon’s wing.

“Good thing it died when it did, I might have been crushed otherwise.” Ria started laughing.

“Did the dragon land on you Athis?” Athis sneered but didn’t answer her. Now with everyone accounted for, plus some hefty bruising, Trav’lar walked over to the twins.

“Kodlak didn’t mention you two were out this way.” Vilkas rubbed at a cut above his brow.

“We weren’t originally, but our target had left and headed this way, we needed to get it before it reached Rorikstead.”

“It?” Vilkas glanced around then lowered his voice.

“A vampire. Was laired up in a ruin, took two days to track him down so we were close enough when that dragon attacked.”

“Could hear Ria shrieking like a banshee.” Farkas grinned, then laughed when the female Companion smacked him on the arm.

“I do not shriek, it was a war cry.”

“You’ll get there eventually pup.”

“Best get back to the village, tell them the dragon is dead.” Lydia stood close to Trav’lar, ready to lend him any support he needed, but he felt refreshed after absorbing the soul.

Everyone was still hidden when they reached the Inn, Trav’lar letting the village guards go and tell them the danger was over.

“Will you be returning with us to Whiterun?” Trav’lar asked Farkas, as they refreshed themselves with water and mead. “We spotted another dragon burial site on the way here, that might be the next one to come back.”

“Burial mound?” Trav’lar frowned, he’d forgotten that not everyone knew how the dragons were appearing.

“Farengar has determined that we can expect to see dragons appearing at burial sites as they are summoned by a great black dragon. There was one here, so the one we passed is a concern.” Farkas grinned.

“So, we might fight another dragon? I’m willing if my brother is not.”

“What’s this now?” Vilkas came up behind his brother, handing him a whole roasted goat leg when he turned.

“Trav’lar thinks they might come across another dragon on their way back to Whiterun. We should go with them, we won’t have to walk back at least.”

Vilkas was quiet a moment as he looked between Trav’lar and his brother. “Since we’d be able to report back sooner, might as well.”

Trav’lar looked around the village as the villagers started heading back to their homes, giving them their thanks as they passed. “We’ll rest for the night, then head back. If there is anything from the dragon you want to take back, go right ahead.”

“Eorlund may be interested in the dragon bone.” Vilkas got that gleam in his eyes when he was pursuing knowledge. “I’ll take some of that back. To study. For him to study.”

“Too bad the skull is so big, but a few teeth should be a nice trophy.”

That evening at the Inn a small celebration was thrown for them, the villagers were grateful and surprised when they realized their Thane and the Dragonborn were one and the same. The twins loaded some dragon bone and scales into the wagon, the horses getting a little nervous from the smell. With so many warriors traveling with them, some did have to walk so they planned to switch out once those walking started to get tired.

They slowed the wagon as they approached the other burial site, but except for a very confused reanimated skeleton, who was trying to pick up its left arm but kept kicking it away, there was nothing there. The others confirmed they’d seen similar spots int their travels and now know to be warry of them and to warn others of the danger.

It was almost noon by the time they got back to Whiterun, all heading to give their reports. Farkas gave Trav’lar a friendly pat on his shoulder as they went their separate ways and Athis gave him a friendly nod. Luckily the Jarl’s children were not around so Trav’lar wouldn’t have to deal with their sneers and giggles. Sometimes he really hated children.

“I see you have returned. What news do you have?”

“There was a dragon at Rorikstead. According to the villagers, it had besieged them for a week, they sent messages but neither theirs or ours reached their destination.”

The Jarl sighed and placed another black flag at Rorikstead. This time Geoff reported.

“We found another burial site on the way there. So far it remains undisturbed, but I’ll expand the patrols to keep and closer eye on it.” Balgruuf looked at the map he’d gotten from Farengar, following the road between Rorikstead and Whiterun.

“Nothing is marked on the map.” He looked up at Trav’lar. “I was afraid there would be some missing, but at least we know some of them. Well done.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Trav’lar was surprised when he entered the house that no one was home, since the Drunken Huntsman was closed as well. As he deposited his bags on the floor, he noticed the paper sitting folded on the dining table.

_Trav’lar –_  
_The brothers and I have been asked to help the Gildergreen, we’ll be back in a few days.  
_ _-Faendal_

“How can they help the Gildergreen? It’s dead.” With a shrug Trav’lar left the note on the table, then stopped. It was supposed to be cleaning day tomorrow, and now Trav’lar would have to do it mostly himself. “Damnit.”

“What is wrong my Thane?” He turned to Lydia with a frown.

“Faendal left for a few days, which means cleaning will be on us.” She chuckled, making his frown more.

“Cleaning won’t be hard my Thane, you two are the neatest men I’ve known, I have three brothers and have stayed in the barracks.”

“You point out when I leave my clothes on the floor.” Lydia shrugged.

“Keeps you from dropping the nice ones to wrinkle.” Trav’lar stared at her in betrayal, she was starting to remind him of his sister.

~ ~ ~ ~

When Faendal did return, he and the brothers looked exhausted, but triumphant as they drove a wagon as close to the Gildergreen as they could, a young tree carefully wrapped in the back. As the priests were carefully unloading the sapling, Faendal spotted his cousin and waved him over with a smile.

“Trav’lar, too bad you weren’t with us. We went to the Eldergleam sanctuary, it was so peaceful and beautiful, and the tree was ancient.” Trav’lar smiled. His cousin did seem relaxed and at peace, a nice change to all the stress that had been building up these last few months.

“It was definitely one of Kyne’s holy places, reminds me of Y’ffre a bit.” Elrindir joined them. “I would even be willing to make a yearly pilgrimage to get that little reminder of home.”

“I’m sorry I missed it, but there was a dragon terrorizing Rorikstead.” His cousin looked him over critically but didn’t try to smother him. Just then, Danica approached them.

“I thought you were bringing back the sap to heal the tree?” As one, all three bosmer turned to look at the dead tree.

“That is not the way of Kynareth.” The man who had been riding in the back of the wagon spoke up, frowning at Danica. “The true blessing of nature lies in renewal, not a slavish maintenance.”

Sensing a fight brewing, they quickly left the central square and headed down the stairs, where Anoriath was just starting to move the wagon. A young man jogged towards them, a satchel bouncing on his hip.

“Dragonborn, I have a letter here for you.”

“Thank you.” Trav’lar frowned as he accepted the letter, the courier had addressed him as dragonborn, who would be writing to him as that? He felt Faendal and Elrindir hovering over his shoulders. “Let’s open this inside, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, feel free to drop some suggestions, or comments, likes, dislikes...

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything from this except Trav'lar, I am doing this for fun after having WAY too many hours in the game, and am using it to better my writing. Comments are welcome but if they are overly negative or offensive, they will be deleted and ignored. Will try to update regularly, aiming for every Friday.


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